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Saturday, November 26, 2011

Beautiful Silence


Copyright Lia Scott Price

Beautiful Silence

She prays only for show. She puts all her faith into statues that she believes will save her. But she is as hollow as the little guardian angel statues she prays to.

Her prayers do not give her a soul. Her soul was corrupted from the day she abused me, her only child. And yet she dares to ask her statues for forgiveness for what she has done. But did she ever think about asking ME for forgiveness? She deprived me of a childhood, of a life. It was a life once filled with pain, torture, fear and anger.

And now, even as a Guardian Angel, a supposed holy and peaceful being, I still retain all those emotions, and I do not feel obligated to save humans from their own miseries. I certainly suffered through mine.

And my goal in answering prayers is to get revenge. From anyone who whines to me.

Because of you, mother.

She had no idea that a Guardian Angel had a memory. It was when I died at 10 years old, from her abuse. She claimed it was an accident, but I knew better. She got away with murder.

It is when she prays for help to her Guardian Angel that I answered. And I arrive with a vengeance.

When I crack open her skull, Iʼm not surprised to find that there is nothing there, except brain matter. No intelligence, no empathy, nothing deserving of sympathy or salvation. I will tear every part of her into pieces. I am the killer you whining humans created.

She will feel the cut of a sharp knife against human flesh. I still relish the thought of watching her face as her skull gets split in two, exposing blood and brains, all that rotten matter spilling all over. I wonder if she is aware of how her head is severed from her abusive, worthless body.

I wondered if she even had time to ponder if she ever felt guilty about what she did to me, as what's left of her brain leaves her skull?

And as her whining, narcissistic prayer to me is silenced, I realize…. it's such a beautiful, peaceful silence.

A Guardian Angel hates whining.

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