The Locket

((A/N: Hey guys. Sorry it's short but I really like it so imma post it. Feedback would be great so comment your opinion please. Positive or negative. Everything helps. Thanks :) see you through the page.))

It was dark and cold, their fire lite with small flames flowering out. She lay on the stone cold bed, her slender fingers reaching out to touch the bulged out stomach. Pain wrethed through her as her muscle clenched and unclenched, trying to push the bowling ball out of her womb. Finally, with one last good scream, hers was joined by a much louder one. A small child that squealed with joy and cried in pain.

A mother would be proud if only she had not fallen into the hand that pulled her into sleep that would last an eternity. Father, carrying the small whimpering thing, cries for the loss of his beloved wife and mother of his child. The child grew into an adult and the father into an old man. Marrying a man who loves her, she watches as her stomach grows and her father cries. His brain plays back the memory of her mother, the beautiful woman he still loves even though she is gone.

The new mother, just as pale, lay lifeless as her child is given to its father. An old man sits in a chair by the fire as its flames threaten to climb out and burn him. He leans forward, fists clenching the small locket that passes down mother to mother. Resting his face against his fists, tears pour from his eyes as he sees the child in its father's arms. Quietly standing up, he places the the locket on the baby girl's small hand. He says goodbye, kisses his granddaughter's forehead and sits back down onto the chair.

His vision goes blurry, a white light appearing before him and two figures walk out with arms out wide. Tears fill his eyes as he sees that they are the two most beautiful women in his world. Hand in hand they walk back into the light and he follows his wife and daughter into the abyss. The new father, carrying his child, walks back home to raise his child alone.

She grows, but does not marry. Her face, full of beauty, is a sulky one. She cries late at night when only bats are around to hear. Her mother gone and her father a drunk, almost everyday comes home to find piles of bottles on the floor and another in his hand. She tries so hard to get him to stop, but the bruises on her face and arms scream that she fails.

Late at night, after a beating so fierce, she lay on the floor. Her heart holds fear but her hand holds a locket, passed down mother to mother. In her other hand she carries a blade, long and sharp. One swift move and she follows her mother to a land so beautiful and so empty. Her body now empty and the locket gone.