beautifulsilenceLuKu

We spend our lives earning money to buy things we can call our own. We worry about the silly things in life, like not having the latest mobile or the nicest clothes. But once it’s time for you to transgress the moment between life and death , you die with nothing but yourself. You die, and your whole life is worth nothing to you, except from the sorrowful tears from those around. And suddenly the person you were is nothing more than a trickle of water on your loved ones cheek. I watched my auntie die two nights ago, and suddenly I realised the importance of life. It is not to get the best job, the best clothes, the best house, but rath

Chapter Three By the age of six, I found myself hopelessly lost amongst the confusion that came in the presence of social workers and police officers who told me I couldn't see my father unless supervised by an adult. I could have continued defending him, returning home sheltering the weekends secrets, if only I hadn't been taken there in a Police car, back to my panic stricken mother who was yet to find out that trips out into the night world was a regular thing, for her daughter and the pyjamas on her back.  The midnight walks wasn't so bad. He'd take me to the pond that lay before his 'land', and we'd watch the bats swoon through the clo

Chapter Two Things got hard when my sister left - that's when the real problems started to occur. At seven years old I was able to pass judgements on my surroundings - notice things that seemed out of place, take a look at the big, wide world with fresh eyes and use my awfully pubescent head to think. I don't recall much of her departure. I look back at my seventh birthday in particular  and realise that it was perhaps the most confusing day of my childhood. I remember receiving gifts from my sister, but not my father. In fact I don't remember seeing him at all. I remember she told me, in three days I'm going away, as she passed me my music

As a child I clung onto the words of my father - I held onto his being  and scorned those who threatened his name. He was my idol, the hopeless man who stole all of my adoration ; the man who could do no wrong because he was my father, and I was his little girl. But now, looking back on the memories forever implanted within my mind, I look back with a clear vision and see that, without any form of doubt - I despise the ground he walks on. It's funny how life works out. Maybe they have it wrong. Maybe the word funny is evil in disguise. Chapter One. I have no recollection of my first memory, which is rather sad. I would like to think that