Tricia Nielsen ✍️
The long awaited day has come. Here comes the new bride as she walks down the aisle. I was getting married to the man of my dreams. Who could be much happier than anyone but me?
“I now pronounce you husband and wife!”
Now I’m officially a MacKenny!
The baby is coming!
It was delivery time…
Derek and I were going to have our first baby. I couldn’t wait to carry her in my arms. And I was happy to know that Derek would be just by my side when she came crawling out…
“Told you it was gonna be a girl,”
“Ha-oh. Everyone wants a boy but you,”
Derek was such a loving husband. I wouldn’t ask for more as long as he remained by my side. My love for him was uncontrollable, and I was happy to know that I had chosen the right father for my babies.
“Babe, I think someone’s at the door,”
I knew who was it already…
Mum couldn’t wait to have her granddaughter in her arms, and I knew baby Lucy wanted to be all comfy in her arms.
“Honey, say “hi” to grams,”
“Awe, she’s so cute.” Mum said, taking her from me.
My little girl stared into her eyes, though I knew she couldn’t make out anyone yet. She had her eyes, no doubts. But took Derek’s chiselled nose instead.
“She looks a lot like you, Trish,” Mum said to me.
I laughed and stared down on her. “You really think so?” I smiled up at Mum, getting a nod and an “Mm-hmm” from her.
“Though she’s got my eyes,” she added, pecking Lucy.
“I wonder when she’ll look like me.”
Derek chipped in. “When she’s come of age… I guess?” he poked my sides.
“I sure hope not!”
A young girl of about seventeen looked out the window, watching the kids play happily in the street.
Her name was Lucille Mackenny. But you could call her Lucy when anyone came asking.
Lucy was the mute daughter of the MacKennys. She could not talk or hear in anyway, making her parents treat her specially. This always got their other daughter furious, and Anita on her part… couldn’t help but feel left out with her sister always getting the spotlight.
“Dad. Mum. When are you going to stop giving Lucille special treatments?” she asked them one day.
They couldn’t give her what she wanted, making her dislike Lucy even more.
Lucy’s life was more of staying in her room, transforming pictures into life, and playing the guitar, though she had no idea what sweet rhythms her talent produced. Her love for music was pure, and she hoped her lips could one day make out words just like everyone else, and not had to stay still, while her fingers made gestures.
Lucille MacKenny ✍️
I saw a boy today… His smile was like that of an angel. It felt as though we already knew but I couldn’t make out where exactly we had seen.
Gee. What am I doing? The diary isn’t helping at all.
I couldn’t help but wonder how it’d feel like to be able to communicate with someone; to be able to talk to dad, and to hear mum bid me goodnight, and not just have her communicate with me with her fingers.
Mum had bought me a diary when I was six. At that time, I had no idea what it was until she showed me the proper way to use it. Then I’d wonder why I couldn’t talk like the rest of the people, or even hear what they were saying. It was a bit of a torture really, but I was already used to it.
Mum pitied me all the time. She would stay by my side, and would rather sleep with me than stayed in her room. Seeing her miserable because of me… got me all sad and down. I hated the fact that I was making her suffer for something that she shouldn’t be blamed for… getting me worse inside.
Mum was really sweet—and Dad—well, he was one who was always stuck at work, so he barely wasn’t home. Nevertheless, he still made out time for us, and that was one thing I loved about him.
I could say my family was really perfect. Well, except for the fact that my own sister hated me. We hardly saw. And even when we did, the frightening signal which the cold shoulder she gave sent, made me not wanting to be close to her. I wanted to ask her why she hated me so much, but I couldn’t, knowing there was no way that I could tell her…
I got up from the bed and moved to the window. I looked out it and saw the same children that were there few minutes ago, still playing hopscotch—a game Mum had taught Anita and me when we were little. It was hard learning it then, but with her help, I was able to get it right.
I watched for some minutes, making to leave, as a clear image hovered just below.
I made to call, but stood mindless, knowing I’ll never be able to get him to notice me.
HOW’S THIS, GUYS?