𝐂𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐄. ( michael langdon )

what couldve been.

(  prologue  )
" liberated but not really "

LIBERATION WAS SOMETHING I BELIEVED I'D NEVER BE GRANTED. i pictured myself staying by my mother's side , helping her with generations and generations of witches while i crumbled at the thought of how i wasn't normal. i envisioned more lonely nights of sorrow with no one coming to save me from this inferno i grew so tired of. i never knew liberation. the feeling of being free.

i'd only known freedom with all the times I spent with him. there was not a memory i shared with him that i could simply forget ; he was memorable. he was beautiful , as beautiful as the fallen ones mother always talked about. every time i look at Adam i see his father's blue eyes that captured my gaze when we first met. delia had his luscious locks i envy to this day.

i stare at my children , as they run , gallop , and venture through the meadow fields. their energy i feel and crave and suddenly it reminds me of the meadows me and him used to lie in. it makes me smile , with my eyes frowning at the memory of his arm around me as we surrounded ourselves with white zinnias.

i could see tiredness take over delia , pausing before she ran towards me like a drove of stampeded animals. her body collapses into my arms and I feel her warmth. her innocence. something i was so wrongly stripped of. i long for it sometimes.

    i call over Adam. he runs to me and picks a few flowers of the meadow as he does so. his hair flops around like the ears of a beagle , and he settles down right beside me , leaning his head onto my shoulder. their clothes are stained in shades of green and earthy brown as they eye me for something , like they always do.

    "what is it today mommy?" adam asks.

    "oh! can it be about dragons?" Delia adds.

    adam looks at his sister and nods his head in agreement , but sadly I shake my head.

    "no dragons today. it's a story about a girl." i say.

    "a girl? is she pretty?" adam teases , tilting his head.

    i giggle at his comment. "sure. she was a very a pretty girl. very smart too. she came from a powerful line of women who were very special."

    i told them about the women , the witches that resided in the very places we inhabited. i told them about the girl and her limited to none liberation. i told them about the boy she'd met , how she'd found love in him and how her mother and fellow sisters disproved their fondness of each other. the late night calls , the sneaking out , the flame they shared together that died out so soon. i told them it all.

   delia found herself tiresome and fell asleep on my chest while adam was entertained by the tale. after i finished he stood up.

    "what happened to the girl and the boy?" his voice cracked of worry , with the feeling of disturbance that something happened to the two lovers deep.

   "they moved on with their lives. went on to different things."

    he was dissatisfied with my response. instead , he came up with his own ending , exclaiming that they got a happy ending.

    i said nothing.

as if adam's version of the tale was just as fair. the scrapped ending of the book everyone begged for but never got. the layered tasteful icing on the cake.

he left me under the tree to resume playing with his sister and for a brief moment i caught myself staring down at my hand.

gold with the prettiest diamonds encrusted on the top that shimmered just right in the sun. on the inside , his initials were engraved in it , mine being in his as well. oh , what a shame , our marriage didn't last long.

i slid the ring off of my finger , bringing it up to my lips and kissed it gently.

i can feel the glossy tears starting in my eyes , the desolate sobs beginning. but then memories of him take over again and suddenly i don't feel so miserable anymore.

i am liberated. free from my mother's judgement. free from the rest of the world. but i wasn't free from the forever anonymous fate of my lover that felt like thousands of chains being poured down on me everyday.

so i stare at my children out in the meadow , fearing for their future and what's to come. What to tell them about their father.

because the official mourning of what could have been had not yet begun , and already i was tired of it.