Þetta er kannski ekkert gott. Skrifaði þetta bara í náttúrufræði einn daginn. Merkilegt hvað maður gerir til þess að sleppa við að hlusta í NÁT133 ;)

Sitting in a little treehouse, we find a little girl. Long, curly, blonde locks, pale skin and dark brown eyes watching her parents again. Not for the first time, not the second – and certainly not the last. She knew she’d sit there many more times. Her treehouse was the place she’d go and she’d watch each time.

The blood, the pain, the agony, the terror. Nothing new for the girl to watch. Nothing new in the mothers expression and nothing new as the girl squeezed the teddy she kept in the treehouse. She looked emotionless. She had tought herself not to cry and not to be afraid. Show no feelings and then they wont exist. After each time she’d pick a flower and put it in a vase.

She even had another vase because her first one was getting full of flowers. She picked them for her mother, one each time. She knew she’d probably have to get a third vase eventually. Her father, if you can call him that, would give her 5 bucks each time and so for each flower she picked she also had 5 bucks. She was getting richer by the time because for a little girl 5 bucks is a lot. She put it in a piggy bank and saved it up.

One time, just that one time, she had picked two flowers. Just that one time. A flower for her mother and a flower for herself. A big flower for herself but a smaller one for her mother. He was a monster and so he didn’t deserve flowers. She got a rock for each time and put it in a box marked “Dad” and had questionmarks all over them.


Few years later the little girl had turned into a teenage girl. Good grades, beauty, popularity, niceness and kindness. She had a big heart and she was loved.

She graduated school and that same summer her mother passed away. The cause was said to be unknown but the girl knew. She knew it was her fathers fault. It was just a question of time, she had known that since she was a little girl in the treehouse. She now had a few full vases filled with flowers and three big boxes filled with rocks. Her mothers passing away made her happy in a way she couldn’t explain. It gave her a reason to give her mother the flowers and finally her mother was free. Free from the pain, agony, terror, blood… Free. She picked the last flower as she walked to the grave a few days after the funeral. A big, red, beautiful rose. She put the big bunch of flowers on the grave and the rose on top. Under it she slid a little note.

“1000 flowers
One for each time
He’ll pay. You’re free.
I love you”

A week later the father was found dead in a pile of rocks and the girl was never seen again. Ever.