Empty
TW: Death, Loss of family, Blood / Gore, and General Angsty Topics “Baby mine, don't you cry” Small tears fell onto his brown leather jacket, coming from his baby. Why, out of everyone in this cruel world must his little girl be picked to leave? There were many that were deserving of this pain, but not his sweet child. Why couldn’t he be the one to go? She had so much left for her in this world not him. “Baby mine, dry your eyes” Tears could be felt in the corner of his eyes but he held them back. He would stay strong for his little dove. He would make sure her last moments were good ones. He had to. “Papa it hurts, it hurts so bad..” His sweet baby cried out to him clear fear in her tone. “Shh, it’s going to be alright pumpkin, just close your eyes and lay on me papa’s got you. I promise, papa’s not going anywhere.” Every plea in his body shouted to call out for help, but he had already wasted much of her time left doing that before. There was nothing else to do other than make her feel comfortable as life took its course. One arm held her close to his chest, and one arm brushed through her blood filled hair as he began to sing her favorite lullaby he would always sing to her when she was scared or heading to bed. Not once letting his breath hitch between a single note, the last time she heard her song would be perfect. “Rest your head close to my heart“ Soon enough his baby’s body went limp almost as if she had calmed down, and slowly her weight became a dead one. Sobs came out once she had fully passed as William held her dead body for hours until someone came to find him and every tear in his body possibly had been shed. “Never to part, baby of mine” ----~~~~---- The sounds of birds could be heard in the early morning. William rubbed his eyes drastically to awaken himself reaching out for his glasses and putting them on then squinting to look at the time. 8 am seemingly a perfect time for a man with no busyness. He got out of bed and walked down the quiet halls of his tiny cottage. So bare, so quiet. Every morning he woke up to hatred of his home, the longing for the sound of tiny footsteps running across his halls. A longing for the noise of kids playing outside in the garden with one of their new favorite games for that week. He missed it all so much. Sure the cottage was lovely, and it was lovely to live in but William was lonely. He ached for the past that had been long gone away. Now his only friends were the ones in his writings, and books scattered around his book shelves in a way he would call ‘neat’ as he knew where everything was. Even after all these years he still found himself absentmindedly making too much food in each meal, or calling out her name, or even humming her song to get himself to sleep. He missed that fulfillment of being a father, but not as much as he missed her. William hated the term lonely, it felt so small. If anything he would say he was empty, a shell of a man that he used to be. Completely empty.
