Turned to Gold-a short story

I was once a wealthy young girl. I was spoiled, I had everything I could have possibly needed; I had servants, cooks, and loving parents.

However, I had yet to discover the reality of things. I hadn't yet been exposed to the cruelty of the world. I saw only good in everyone and everything. You see a thorn, I saw a knight guarding its rose. You see rain ruining your fun outside, I saw a cleansing of the earth. You saw a cruel selfish man, I saw someone misunderstood. I had been that way all throughout my youth, and I didn't learn to not underestimate everything until it was too late.

At a young age I had an encounter with a strange young man. He was shy, and isolated. I tried reaching out to him, but it never worked. He would always make an excuse to get away from me. I never took it personally though. He was that way with everyone.

I wondered if I should just give up. I saw no hope in getting this boy to open up to me. But I was to stuborn. I wasn't going to let this boy win, despite this not being a competition.

Then, one morning, my mother fell ill. I was out walking with her in the garden, then she collapsed, right there in front of me. I ran in the house and cried to my father. Together we went and got my mother, then my father called for a doctor.

I was so young, I hardly knew what was happening. All I knew was that my mother was expected to die.

The doctor had suggested that we bring her to a hospital, but my mother insisted.she stay home. She knew she was going to die, and she wanted to spend her last days at home.

Just days after my mother fell ill, I heard my father talking to my mother. I could hardly hear them, so I came to the door and rested my ear on it.

"Please Joseph," I heard my mother say weakly. "Please, I must see her. I must see my little angel once more."

"But Bethany," returned my father, "She should not see you like this. It would not do good for her to see her pale mother lying in a bed on the edge of death." I could hear my father's voice trembling as he said this.

"Please. I know I look horible, and this image and memory will linger with her always, but," my mother paused, perhaps considering her words, or pondering what she will say next. "But she is still my daughter and a little piece of me dies with each moment we are apart."

There was a moment of silence, then my father said, "Very well. I will send her in. I suppose she does deserve that much."

"Thank you Joseph."

My father startled me when he opened the door, causing me to jump back.

"Camilla, your mother would like to speak with you. She is waiting."

I hadn't seen my mother in days so I didn't know what to expect. Certainly not what I saw.

As I neared her bed I got a better image of her. She was very pale and looked like she hadn't eaten in months. Her cheeks were swollen in. Her eyes were a dull grey color and very blood shot. Her hair was a tangled mess. I barely recognized her.

"Come, my child," she said as she reached out a shaking hand. She was weak, and I could see that with every muscle she used.

I allowed her to grab my hand with her outstretched hand and guide me to the seat beside her bed. For a moment I just started into her dull eyes.