The locket glimmers crimson as rays of morning light reflected from its smooth surface. I held it in my hands and felt its coolness sting my skin. The front was a mezzo-tinted rose gold metal, and when I flipped it open, I nearly saw a reflection of myself. The minuscule photograph with its colours fading lies buried in between the frames of the locket, showing an image of a middle aged woman. Her shoulder length hair in the shade of chestnut brown was combed neatly, complementing the colour of her hazel droopy almond shaped eyes. Her angular jawline was lined symmetrically to the curve of her plump lower lip as she shows off her sweet grin. I squinted and focused my sight on her long, narrow neck and spotted a piece of carcanet that was embellished with colourful gemstones. I noticed how small her figure was, and how it contradicts the size of her huge jewelry. She looked like as if she was trying hard to straighten her back as she carries a huge chained boulder that was hung around her neck. Her image alone showed me the face of a poor, depressed woman who lived lamentably. My late mother was never happy; Callahan Davenport was the cause of her everlasting grief.
I shut my eyes tight and laid on the lush trimmed grass that tickles my elbow. Bloomed daffodils surrounded my body as the cold breeze rushed through my splayed fingers that I raised in the dewy air. I tried to catch each blow of wind that passed, but my grip can never be strong enough to catch the wind. I recalled the olden times when I was little. If I could just hold on to those times, I might claim myself to be the happiest girl ever alive. But time ticks by, and nobody could hold on to it. Life is a roller coaster ride, anyway. What more can you expect? One moment you're on top of the world being as cheerful as ever, and the next moment you find yourself drowning in the abyss. My mother, Margaret was a widow in my memories. She once told me that my father passed away when I was 2, and I grew up without one. Margaret was the greatest woman alive, the best mother anyone could have. My life as a child was nearly perfect, until I turned 15. We were running out of the money father left for us, and my mom had no other choice but to make use of her dancing talents and went out to dance as a coryphee, to earn for a living. Her moves were flawless, I still remembered how she stood up on her toes as if she weighs nothing, and how graceful she sways and spins around. As a little girl, I thought being a ballerina was a great occupation. I thought that my mother had her dreams coming true. Mother started to leave our house earlier than usual, and came back home when I have already fallen asleep. Strangers started to come over, and every time when they did, mother always told me to go back into my room and stay silent. As naive as I was, I thought that the strangers who pop in and out of my house were mother's business partners, great people. I had also thought about mother marrying one of them so that I could have a father who will watch me grow. But all those thoughts that appears in my mind were imaginations, all those hopes that I have for mother to marry a man were deceptions. Mother ended up choosing the wrong path in life and married a wealthy man who is no other than Sir C. Davenport.
I heard wedding bells chime in the patio as velvety rose petals rained over my brand new faux fur petticoat, a gift from Callahan. It was the wedding of Callahan and Margaret, the most blessed day of their lives as they start a new chapter in life with me as their daughter. Catastrophically, it turned out to be a tragedy that should never have happened. Callahan turned out to be cold inside out, his beating heart as hard as rock. He rebuked at the slightest mistake i make, and tormented Margaret by beating her. His mouth spoke foul words and his soul was tinted black with sin. I used to think that being a daughter of a wealthy man would completely change my life into an incredible, majestic one. But it turned out otherwise. Mother was accused of theft when Callahan's objects that was missing, and she was tortured by slavery. The whole village would shoot her sinister looks of disgust, and their eyes would glare at my mom as if she was guilty. The nasty, repulsive rumors that were spoken behind her back would always puncture through my heart, and i will always ask myself in disbelief, 'Why would they say such horrible things?'.
My life as a child was wretched, and July was the last time I saw Margaret. Her sickly body laid on the bed as she breathed her last breath away. She looked like a rose bud that blushes pink and withers at the same moment. My mother was the only one who would do anything for my own good; the only one out there who was strong enough to withstand all those pressure she had and still was able to hold back her tears in front of me. I clutched the pendant she gave me in my trembling hands, as tears started to roll down my cheeks. Strands of my hair got carried along with the wind and brushed my wet cheeks. Here I laid in the backyard of where i used to grow up in, stuck in dilemma. In my palms I held a piece of jewelry that carries both dolefulness and blessedness, both the blissful and ravaged past of mine, both the memoir that i want to preserve forevermore and the ones I want to destroy with my abhorrence.
Using my bare fingers I dredged the fertile soil of this place, digging a hole deep enough to contain my burden. Dropping the locket in, I closed my teary eyes and whispered softly to the skies above for one last time, 'Mother, I keep you in my heart.' I swept the loose earth that piles up beside, and covered my remorse eternally. In this place I buried the bad, and inside my heart I cherished the good.
Cerpen Karangan: Karen Elisabeth
Facebook: Karen Elisabeth
Karen Elisabeth, 15, Grade 11 of Bina Bangsa School Pantai Indah Kapuk.
Inspired by many, with stories of their own.
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