A portrait of innocence, the young girl sits. The apple of her father’s eye. Brought into the world amidst high hopes, happiness, heart. He always told her he loved her. My little angel, what’s yours is mine, just you and me. The young are naïve in the face of beasts. False expressions masked by cruel lust. She sits with him over long years. He muses and obsesses, verging on fracture.
Distorted synapses cloud the pictures of perfection. She watches and forces a smile as the force of habit empties the bottle, crumples the cigarette. Shaking hands tighten their grip around her arm of soft blossom skin. Her scent burns into his system and extinguishes all worry & pain. He yearns for her touch. She grows older day by day. As time passes, he senses the emotion and the physicality of their relationship dissipating.
Freedoms must now be granted to this adolescent wonder, yet he cannot understand and allow this; the thoughts sicken and degenerate him. A father knows best, a father is in control. A father’s concern builds to frustrated confusion.
“Why must you associate with these people? Who suggested you dress like that? Why am I not all you need? Do you even still fucking love me?”
A father’s frustration amounts to rash judgment eventuating in deranged violence. Instilled fear; a side of him she had never seen or imagined. Deep and unending hurt; a father and daughter’s bond fractured, much like her eye socket. Where love once flourished, a hole in her heart replaces it, much like the holes in her torso. A dilapidated soul lies amongst the wreckage of a disgraced body.
A number of malicious blows from fists, knees and feet make the young girl recoil and cower. Her screams and pleas go unheard in the wilderness surrounding the house. The father drags her into the kitchen where he repeatedly sinks a knife into her chest.
The father’s nervous aggression prompts him to look away. He gazes into the sky from the kitchen window seeing a single star shining briefly before gathering clouds form a gloomy cover. His mind twists with guilt and an urge to escape. He races outside to the car and fumbles the keys into the ignition, parting ways with his daughter’s once beautiful remains. Only one road out. He always said he loved her. Daddy’s little girl.
– By Alec Tullio