The Shooting Star

I sat on the railing of my balcony lost in the deep abyss of my mind, until I saw a shooting star, and the tears which I had been keeping in, finally forced their way out and I sobbed re-watching the dreaded scene, as a feeling of guilt crept in, binding me in its power entirely.

 

-Flashback-

 

My scrawny giggles came to an abrupt halt and my eyes grew big, leaving behind an awestruck face. “Father!” I screeched. “You still have to tell me the ending of the story!” “Oh yes, my little doll, I will complete your story.” He whispered in his soothing honey-sweet voice and smiled softly and that smile was more than enough to put my agitated eight-year-old mind at ease. I hummed along with the random sound of ruffling pages, before chuckling when my father cleared his throat dramatically before shifting his focus towards the black ink carved on the yellowish pages.

 

“.....the prince died and said, I...” a monotonous ringtone erupted from my father’s phone, a sound still etched in my mind. He spoke in rushed whispers, grabbed his coat, a look of horror and worry clearly painted on his features. Before leaving, however, he took a deep breath as if to regain composure and made his way towards me, holding my tiny face in his large, warm hands and said, “I have to leave now, but daddy promises that he will finish your story.” He intertwined our pinkies and rushed out of the door.

 

I quickly got out of my bed and opened the window, feeling the chilly winter breeze hit my face as I gazed at the stars, and there, I saw the same shooting star, brighter than ever before and made a wish. I wished aloud that I hoped for daddy to come back, oblivious to the fact that if you voice your wishes they don’t come true, oblivious to my father’s cries as the gunshot tore through his skin, oblivious to his thoughts as he lay on the pavement bleeding to death.

 

-Flashback Over-

 

Trails of crystal-like tears brimmed my eyes as I watched the scene unfold right before my mind again and again and again, still feeling the same amount of pain I felt before. But today, a scene different than the usual crept to my mind, how even in his last moments he had kept his promise – how his bloody hands dialed the house just to finish my ending – “You will be better when the next spring comes, because for me the entire world blooms only when you are happy.”

 

I forced myself out of my daze as a realisation struck me. He will be happy if I am, only if I am. I gazed around the empty boxes of tissues that littered the room and smiled – a true smile, a smile of determination, a smile which my face had not adorned in a long, long time. I will now make every day of my life a spring day.