Balancing grief on your shoulders.
↳ After the death of your mother, father was just never the same ·ﾟˊˎ
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genre: fiction, fluff, angst.
warnings: mentions of death, grief.
word count: 623 words
request here
prompt by Rozé
a/n: I honestly forgot I wrote this, but I really liked the plot so I just did some quick editing. I also tried to switch up my writing style a little to accommodate for the age of the main character. She's 10 so I included a lot of sentences then kinda indicated "hey I'm 10 and this is how I think!" I don't know if I did a good job at it but nonetheless, Enjoy~
psa:
- Everything written in my stories is 100% fictional (unless specified) and should NOT be associated with the characters/people in real life without permission from the author.
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Balancing grief on your shoulders.
I skip into my house, carelessly slipping off my crocs and kicking them said. A box filled with sweet delight clutched firmly in my grip.
"I wonder what papa is doing?" I thought out loud as my eyes scanned the hallway for his presence. I assumed he was just busy burying his face into his third book of the week. That was what he always did and had been doing ever since mama left us. Birthday or not, he couldn't stay a meter too far from all his books. I never understood why he liked reading that much since I hated reading. Too many words.
A memory of him hunched over his desk with his nose in a book had popped into my mind. His eye bags were full of grief and sleepless nights. I sighed in disappointment, but then again, who was I to judge? He's had it pretty rough these past few months. He thinks I don't know, he always does. Well, sometimes he's right... It's not like a 10-year old would know much anyways. But that didn't matter!
I tiptoed into his reading room, not wanting to ruin the surprise. As I crept in, the scent of old books hit me like a wave. His room was filled with enough books to fill all the libraries in the world! Sometimes I wonder how old some of them really were--probably older than me. I found him sitting on the couch by his window reading a new book. Somehow he hadn't noticed my presence yet.
Perfect.
I stood even higher on my tippy-toes and curled my back like a shrimp. Slowly, I crept upon him. He is so going to get the scare of his life. I grinned.
"I can hear your footsteps, ya' know?" he scoffed. I paused mid-step with a disappointed pout. I thought for sure I was going to get him this time, but he always seems to notice. He must have eyes on the back of his head. I quickly remembered what I was here for and stood erect with a proud smile, holding the box of cake in my outstretched hand. He seemed a little confused when he saw it but it was quickly replaced with a face of realisation and amusement.
"Happy birthday!" I yelled as he took the box from my hand and opened it.
"Now, where'd you get chocolate cake?" he asked bewildered, suspicion painted across his face.
"Magic!" I giggled evilly. I couldn't let him know that I had asked the old lady next door to help me make one. He gave me a weird look but took a bite anyways.
Time really flies, dad's already fifty and I wasn't sure how much longer it would take for him to come clean to me. He thinks I can't handle the truth, but I could, I had to... So I prodded and poked at the invisible wall he had created the moment mom left us. He dodged the question at first, but I wasn't going to give up. I'm not letting it slide--not this time.
It seemed like years had passed before he finally broke. All the secrets and burden he had kept bottled up came pouring out. He admitted to feeling disappointed in himself, on how he felt bad that he couldn't provide more than what he already had. I felt bad, I didn't know adults had to go through so much trouble.
Just like dad had always said, maybe being young wasn't all that bad. But despite that, I still wanted to grow up for papa. So that we could balance the weight of grief together on our shoulders. Just like how he and mom always did.
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