Father and Daughter

Father and Daughter

The room is monochrome; the floor is black, the walls are black the air is black; the satin bedsheets are blacker then them all. Shadows paint the whole room ebony, save for the white of the sky outside the window. If you looked out the window you would not see the ground, and if you looked up you would not see the ceiling.
A man lies sprawled upon the bed; he too is black and white. Black, black hair against white, almost leperous skin. His teeth are bright white; his suit is black with mourning. The only colour in the room is the deep, lucious red of his lips.
The darkness presses in upon him, but he does not care. He lies on the bed, oblivious to the blackness creeping in around him. He laughs manically to himself, his laughter floating like wisps of smoke up into the oblivion above him.
His skin is smooth and white, like frozen marble, his once-chiselled features now cadaverous. His eyes, filmy and distant, see something, but it is not the bleak room in which he lies. His ears hear phantom music and he sings tunelessly along.
The house echoes with phantoms.
A little girl, dressed in black, cowers in the corner. Silent tears trail down her severe cheeks. She has not eaten in more than a week; neither has her father. She has hardly drunk either. Her lips are parched and her throat is sore, like sandpaper in the sun. She cannot move for the cramps in her stomach and her head spins. Black and white whirl before her, a blurry world of grey.
Daddy's ghostly melody fills her ears, like the nursery rhymes Mother used to sing her when she was young and Mother was still alive.
She shivers at the thought of her mother. Mother died the way Daddy is now; sprawled out upon the same bed, mumbling and giggling and singing and laughing and crying and hugging Daddy tightly.
Now Daddy hugged some other woman, and the little girl wished for Mother, for cook, for nanny, anyone.
But they were all gone. Long gone. Wen Mother died, Daddy said it cost too much to keep them. He said he needed the money for more important things.
Now the house was full of cobwebs and spiders and mouldy patches of wall. The cupboards were empty and the bathroom stank of putrid vomit.
The only drink in the house wasa strange green mixture* that made the little girl's head feel funny.
Cold wind whips in the open window, a freezing north wind that chills the little girl to the bone.
She drags herself weakly across the room to the satin-sheeted bed. Shivering, she crawls into the bed, snuggling close to Daddy's shaking body. He looks at her with bleary eyes, before embracing her tight.
"Daddy'sh gonna buy you a mockingburrd
'N if that mockin' bird don' shhhhling
Daddy'sh gon' buy you a die - die...diamond ring....
An' if...if...brass....
Daddy'sh gon' buy you a...a...
Bonnie lasshh...."
He clutches her so tight their emaciated ribs grate against each other. Thick tears trail down his cheeks and he lets one final, dismal sob.
Father and daughter. Together.
Forever.
























*Anyone for Absinthe?