Status: Comment (:
Nobody Knew
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The swing was old now. The wood was soft; a finger nail could easily dig into it and remove some of the sodden material. Not that anyone touched it. No, it sat, alone in the garden. With a rotting rope, rotting wood and over grown grass. They were going to cut it down. Throw it out. Throw it away. Destroy it. But they didn't. Nobody looked out the back anyway and guests knew better than to ask what happened to the lawn.
Sometimes a new guest would come over, and first they would see the lovely big window. They would see the deep blue ocean, and the white sand that ran into the bottom of the lawn. Then they would see the swing and they'd joke,
"Gardener on holiday?" Then they would laugh. An awkward silence would follow before the beautiful woman with flowing brown hair would let out a light laugh. And nobody would acknowledge what the clueless guest said. The guest would just fold up their confusion and watch as the lovely big window was covered up with a heavy curtain.
Very few people actually knew what had happened. Nobody knew that sometimes, the beautiful woman did look out back. She would kneel at the window, staring at the swing. She would sit and stare, with fat tears falling down her lightly tanned face. The tears would drip down onto her hands folded in her lap. She would sit until the sun peeked over the ocean. Then, she would rise, wipe away her tears and slip back into bed, next to her perfect-husband with his perfectly messed up blonde hair and perfect chisled body. She'd nestle her frame against his and get a moments rest before the alarm would go off. Her husband would stretch out his body, a grunt escaping his lips before he pressed them softly on her bare shoulder.
"'Morning." His voice was always rough, traces of sleep lingering. The woman would give a small smile and wish him a good morning before showering.
After her shower, she would always go into the designer kitchen and put on the breakfast and do other perfect wife things until everyone was out of the house. Then she would go sit back at the window and just stare.
Nobody knew that sometimes, the soon-to-be-teenage girl would crawl out of her room and sit on the lower deck. Mother and daughter, one on top of the other - without realising, both just staring at the swing. The soon-to-be-teenage girl did not cry; her bright green eyes stayed dry. Instead, she lay her pale thighs out in front of her and dig her nails into them, while staring at the swing. She would draw the nails upwards, leaving behind burning lines. She would do that until the skin and sun broke. Then she would return to her bed and wait for her alarm. Wait for her mother to start moving about upstairs. Wait for the call;
"Morning sweetheart, get up." And then she would shower, ignoring that her thighs burnt. Or that it was painful to wear tights. Or that her mother never even looked at her. Or that her father never spoke to her. She would ignore it all, because none of it matter.
Nobody knew anyway.
The soon-to-be-teenage girl would go to school and she would smile at all the right times. Friends would invite her over and she'd decline, saying that her parents want her to focus on school, but really, she was scared they would see her horrid thighs.
She would go home, and she would do her homework near the big window, glancing every so often at the swing.
One day, the beautiful woman and her perfect husband were late home from a socially-polite-dinner. The soon-to-be-teenage girl opened the door to the lower deck with the copy-of-the-stolen key and she walked toward the swing. She hated this swing. But what she hated more was missing her other half. She tied the rope to the top of the swing set and stood on the swing. She made the rope shorter and the soon-to-be-teenage girl kicked the swing out from under her.
Nobody looked out back anymore.
Sometimes a new guest would come over, and first they would see the lovely big window. They would see the deep blue ocean, and the white sand that ran into the bottom of the lawn. Then they would see the swing and they'd joke,
"Gardener on holiday?" Then they would laugh. An awkward silence would follow before the beautiful woman with flowing brown hair would let out a light laugh. And nobody would acknowledge what the clueless guest said. The guest would just fold up their confusion and watch as the lovely big window was covered up with a heavy curtain.
Very few people actually knew what had happened. Nobody knew that sometimes, the beautiful woman did look out back. She would kneel at the window, staring at the swing. She would sit and stare, with fat tears falling down her lightly tanned face. The tears would drip down onto her hands folded in her lap. She would sit until the sun peeked over the ocean. Then, she would rise, wipe away her tears and slip back into bed, next to her perfect-husband with his perfectly messed up blonde hair and perfect chisled body. She'd nestle her frame against his and get a moments rest before the alarm would go off. Her husband would stretch out his body, a grunt escaping his lips before he pressed them softly on her bare shoulder.
"'Morning." His voice was always rough, traces of sleep lingering. The woman would give a small smile and wish him a good morning before showering.
After her shower, she would always go into the designer kitchen and put on the breakfast and do other perfect wife things until everyone was out of the house. Then she would go sit back at the window and just stare.
Nobody knew that sometimes, the soon-to-be-teenage girl would crawl out of her room and sit on the lower deck. Mother and daughter, one on top of the other - without realising, both just staring at the swing. The soon-to-be-teenage girl did not cry; her bright green eyes stayed dry. Instead, she lay her pale thighs out in front of her and dig her nails into them, while staring at the swing. She would draw the nails upwards, leaving behind burning lines. She would do that until the skin and sun broke. Then she would return to her bed and wait for her alarm. Wait for her mother to start moving about upstairs. Wait for the call;
"Morning sweetheart, get up." And then she would shower, ignoring that her thighs burnt. Or that it was painful to wear tights. Or that her mother never even looked at her. Or that her father never spoke to her. She would ignore it all, because none of it matter.
Nobody knew anyway.
The soon-to-be-teenage girl would go to school and she would smile at all the right times. Friends would invite her over and she'd decline, saying that her parents want her to focus on school, but really, she was scared they would see her horrid thighs.
She would go home, and she would do her homework near the big window, glancing every so often at the swing.
One day, the beautiful woman and her perfect husband were late home from a socially-polite-dinner. The soon-to-be-teenage girl opened the door to the lower deck with the copy-of-the-stolen key and she walked toward the swing. She hated this swing. But what she hated more was missing her other half. She tied the rope to the top of the swing set and stood on the swing. She made the rope shorter and the soon-to-be-teenage girl kicked the swing out from under her.
Nobody looked out back anymore.