By Todd Naevestad (Photo Prompt)
Water dripped, drop after drop, into the pan that Miles had set under the leak. He surveyed the small room that served as his home. Pots and buckets and everything that could catch water was scattered about. The rain continued to pour outside, the third day of this storm. The little apartment on the top floor was in dire need of repair, but the landlord would never get around to any patch work.
“Daddy,” a soft voice called from the couch, “I’m cold.”
“I know Misty,” Miles replied. “Let me grab another blanket.” He dug around one of their two closets and found an afghan his mother had given them last Christmas. He shook the dust off of it and brought it over. His daughter misty was curled on the couch, already wrapped in two blankets. She coughed harshly, her illness no better for the weather. Miles sat down next to her, wrapping the heavy afghan around her shoulders and holding her close.
“Thanks daddy,” She said wearily, resting her head on his chest. “I’m tired.”
“Then you should sleep, the doctor said it would help make you better,” Miles suggested, rubbing her back gently.
“Tell me a story, please?” Misty asked, looking up at him with those deep grey eyes. Miles could never say no, especially not with the way things had been.
“All right, I know one for you.
“Once upon a time, there was a lovely little princess named Misty.” Misty giggled when he called her a princess. “She lived in a wondrous palace with her mom and her dad. She was waited on by servants who brought her anything her heart desired. Princess Misty would play in the palace gardens for hours, soaking in the sunshine, splashing in the ponds, and laying in the grass. At night, Princess Misty would lie on her large bed and stare through the glass ceiling at the shimmering stars in the sky. Before she would fall asleep every night her parents would come in to kiss her good night and tell her they loved her. Life in the palace couldn't be better.
“One day, Princess Misty’s mother came into Misty’s bedroom earlier than usual. She sat on the edge and stroked the little princess’s back.
"‘I’m going away Misty.’ Her mother said. ‘I am needed in a far off land. There are people there that I need my help. Mommy is going to take care of them.’
“Misty sniffed sadly and hugged her mom around the neck. ‘Will you come back?’
“‘Of course sweetie, I’ll be back. I will
always come back.’
“Princess Misty smiled widely. ‘Then it’s fine! I can wait and you’ll come back and everything will be the same.’
"Her mom smiled and kissed her head. Princess Misty’s father came in and the two said goodnight. The next day, Princess Misty’s mother was gone.”
A soft snore interrupted Miles’s story. Misty was asleep. Miles laid her down smoothly, putting a pillow under her head.
He wandered over to the window, and leaned against the cold glass. How true that story was. Miles fingered the gold locket that hung around his neck. With a heavy heart he opened it. Inside rested a picture of a woman, Crystal, his wife. It had been three years since her death. No one had seen it coming, taken a plane to assist a medical organization in South America. They had flown into a storm. The plane was struck by lightning and crashed. No one was found.
Miles brushed a tear from his eye. It still stung. Misty had become sick soon after. Whatever it was had caused her some kind of delirium. She didn’t remember where her mom had gone. Every day she would ask when her mom was coming home and everyday Miles would tell her, “Soon.”
He gazed lovingly, sadly, at his precious daughter. “One day, Misty, one day. You will meet with your mother again. We’ll be a family again.”
Water dripped, drop after drop, into the pan that Miles had set under the leak. He surveyed the small room that served as his home. Pots and buckets and everything that could catch water was scattered about. The rain continued to pour outside, the third day of this storm. The little apartment on the top floor was in dire need of repair, but the landlord would never get around to any patch work.
“Daddy,” a soft voice called from the couch, “I’m cold.”
“I know Misty,” Miles replied. “Let me grab another blanket.” He dug around one of their two closets and found an afghan his mother had given them last Christmas. He shook the dust off of it and brought it over. His daughter misty was curled on the couch, already wrapped in two blankets. She coughed harshly, her illness no better for the weather. Miles sat down next to her, wrapping the heavy afghan around her shoulders and holding her close.
“Thanks daddy,” She said wearily, resting her head on his chest. “I’m tired.”
“Then you should sleep, the doctor said it would help make you better,” Miles suggested, rubbing her back gently.
“Tell me a story, please?” Misty asked, looking up at him with those deep grey eyes. Miles could never say no, especially not with the way things had been.
“All right, I know one for you.
“Once upon a time, there was a lovely little princess named Misty.” Misty giggled when he called her a princess. “She lived in a wondrous palace with her mom and her dad. She was waited on by servants who brought her anything her heart desired. Princess Misty would play in the palace gardens for hours, soaking in the sunshine, splashing in the ponds, and laying in the grass. At night, Princess Misty would lie on her large bed and stare through the glass ceiling at the shimmering stars in the sky. Before she would fall asleep every night her parents would come in to kiss her good night and tell her they loved her. Life in the palace couldn't be better.
“One day, Princess Misty’s mother came into Misty’s bedroom earlier than usual. She sat on the edge and stroked the little princess’s back.
"‘I’m going away Misty.’ Her mother said. ‘I am needed in a far off land. There are people there that I need my help. Mommy is going to take care of them.’
“Misty sniffed sadly and hugged her mom around the neck. ‘Will you come back?’
“‘Of course sweetie, I’ll be back. I will
always come back.’
“Princess Misty smiled widely. ‘Then it’s fine! I can wait and you’ll come back and everything will be the same.’
"Her mom smiled and kissed her head. Princess Misty’s father came in and the two said goodnight. The next day, Princess Misty’s mother was gone.”
A soft snore interrupted Miles’s story. Misty was asleep. Miles laid her down smoothly, putting a pillow under her head.
He wandered over to the window, and leaned against the cold glass. How true that story was. Miles fingered the gold locket that hung around his neck. With a heavy heart he opened it. Inside rested a picture of a woman, Crystal, his wife. It had been three years since her death. No one had seen it coming, taken a plane to assist a medical organization in South America. They had flown into a storm. The plane was struck by lightning and crashed. No one was found.
Miles brushed a tear from his eye. It still stung. Misty had become sick soon after. Whatever it was had caused her some kind of delirium. She didn’t remember where her mom had gone. Every day she would ask when her mom was coming home and everyday Miles would tell her, “Soon.”
He gazed lovingly, sadly, at his precious daughter. “One day, Misty, one day. You will meet with your mother again. We’ll be a family again.”