Beautiful Sorrows
“Her feet were flashing like diamonds in the creek. Tiny hands were strung from the stubby branch of the Crying Trees. Her head, eyes dark and her black pigtails shorn, was left in a field where curious wildflowers bent into her mouth. The torso was never discovered.
Azhar had terrible dreams about what happened to his daughter’s young, dusky body, of what became of her heart. In the dreams, he stood playing a flashlight over the corpse of his sweet Sada while lightning splintered on the bleak horizon. Sometimes there was a monster. Sometimes there was a man. Sometimes he himself knelt down and ripped out his own daughter’s organs with his teeth. He was a man who had become a monster.
He hoped they were only dreams.
This was normal, his best friend at home said. Transference of guilt. Agony of a father who couldn’t protect his little one when she needed him most.
“I told her that monsters didn’t exist,” Azhar explained to his friend over the phone. “I lied.”
“Everybody tells their chil...dren that monsters don’t exist.”MoreLess
Azhar had terrible dreams about what happened to his daughter’s young, dusky body, of what became of her heart. In the dreams, he stood playing a flashlight over the corpse of his sweet Sada while lightning splintered on the bleak horizon. Sometimes there was a monster. Sometimes there was a man. Sometimes he himself knelt down and ripped out his own daughter’s organs with his teeth. He was a man who had become a monster.
He hoped they were only dreams.
This was normal, his best friend at home said. Transference of guilt. Agony of a father who couldn’t protect his little one when she needed him most.
“I told her that monsters didn’t exist,” Azhar explained to his friend over the phone. “I lied.”
“Everybody tells their chil...dren that monsters don’t exist.”MoreLess
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