She

It’s dark, as the coffee shop always is, so I walk outside. There is a park, not far from the coffee place, so I think I’ll read a little over there. The sun has not yet begun to set.

As I arrive at the park, I notice children playing on the playground, but they’re not loud, not at all.  There’s a bench a few feet away from a willow tree, still a little soggy from the storm just three days ago, but it’s dry enough for me not to make a fuss over it.

I crack open the book, but I read nothing. I looked up, and in shock I blink. Then I blink again, for I fear my mind is playing tricks on me.

There is a girl on the swing set, a girl whose face has lingered in my thoughts for years. This girl is a tiny, skinny, little thing with black hair that rests on her shoulders. She wears a navy blue dress, with button on the front. She wears white socks, with a fancy fringe, and black Mary Janes. This girl, no older than six, an exact replica of someone I know only too well.

Everything, absolutely every thing is the same; for I will never forget what she looked like when she was that age.

She swings, her short legs don’t reach the ground, and I remember how my own daughter was about eleven before her feet would be able to graze the woodchips. The girl’s hair is put up, like I would put up my own daughter’s hair; pulled up in the back, letting her straight bangs fall on her forehead. She doesn’t swing very high, but it’s enough to entertain her for awhile. I can feel that lump being to form in my throat, for she has her eyes. Oh those big brown eyes! Eyes covered in mile long lashes. Eyes that hold millions of unanswered questions; eyes that could make a grown man cry. 

She stops swinging, and jumps off, landing on her knees. She brushes off the woodchips, and begins to wander. That’s when I realize that she is alone, and that’s when my heart starts beating faster. This isn’t a figment of my delusional mind, nor a coincidence. This isn’t a coincidence, nor a joke. After her death I prayed for months for God to bring her back. I get up, and run to where the girl stands; she turns around and looks up at me. I feel my eyes welling up.

“Are you lost?” I ask. She nods, and I rest my hand on her head, just to feel her hair; I try and hold back a sob. I bring out my hand, and instinctively she grabs it, just like she used to. And then we walk.

She lets go and begins running, and I run with her, when I notice that I can start to see through her body. She becomes more and more transparent by the second. I grasp for her, when I realize that I am grasping at air.

“Bring her back!” I scream “, bring her back!”

It begins to rain again, and I fall into a sobbing heap on the muddy ground.

And once again I am in darkness.

I wake up in my room again, crying. I had been having the same dream everyday since the accident.