One Tear [On Hold]

Epilogue

 One Tear

A slightly more sad story that I just randomly started :P

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Tears are the only thing that has been constant throughout my life. I remember crying nearly every night since I was ten. I am now seventeen.

For the past few years, I have reduced the tears to one, seeing as shedding more tears doesn’t exactly do you any good- all I needed was just one tear to resemble by sorrow.

You see, I am very mature for my age I have been for a very long time now. I am also the ‘sufferer in silence’ type; the way I see it my pain doesn’t need to be shared with anyone, though there is this one little girl that I share my whole world with.

I found her at an orphanage when I was fifteen, and she was six. Her parents had passed away and no one in her family would take her in. She was disable and crippled. She could talk just fine but her body... Well her body was different.

She told me about her life. I was in so much despair hearing her small delicate voice hiccupping as she tried to hold back the tears. After she told me her story, I just had to bring some light into her eyes- I asked her what she would like to do.

Her reply was to go to the beach. This meant that I would have to take her out of the orphanage- which meant I had to ask for permission.

The woman that looked after her at that orphanage is the most blessed person I have ever met. She let me take little Julie out to the beach, which was where I bought her ice cream.

I asked her why she chose to come here. She said it was the place where her parents would take her every Friday at sunset. I was speechless.

There was one experience I gave her. Her first feel of the ocean water.

We sat just at the right spot on the shore. Just our toes getting slightly damp.

Oh how much she loved it. She would laugh every time the water tickled her toes.

I picked her up and slowly glided her toes along the beach floor, the sand sliding through her toes, while she giggled.

We watched the sunset and then I got her back into her wheelchair to drop her off to the orphanage.

I visited this girl every day for the next two years until she died on the 17th of September 2010, a few days after her 11th birthday, from a sudden shut down of her body.

The part that scared me about this date was that the day 8 year old Julie died was the same day my father died from a heart attack 4 years ago.

With the money I had, I contributed to her funeral. I put a perfect pink rose on her casket before she was taken away.

The little pink rose was the exact way she was to me.

All her imperfections made her the perfect person- my best friend.

Pink was the colour her cheeks got that day we were on the beach as she laughed so much. Pink is also her favourite colour. Pink is the dress I bought for her that she treasured so much.

The rose is because she had so much love and good in her heart.

That day was the day I went out and got a diary.

I wrote in it a bit but I always thought of Julie and the child’s sadness and trials she’d been through though she was only eight.

I realised that my life was similar to hers.

I am Elizabeth Elena Marie Walker and my life so far has been a life not worth living.