Home Poetry On Fiction: Diary of One Who Kills for Love

On Fiction: Diary of One Who Kills for Love

by Stephanie Alfaia

April 25th, 2003

I remembered my dream during our morning shower, the same recurring nightmare. It’s been six years now and today I feel hopeless. Last night I saw myself, once again, in that bedroom, holding that gun and watching my little girl scream. The darkness closed in, yet the man was clearly visible. The blood, the cries unheard through my muted ears. A part of me knew it wasn’t reality, simply my mind’s replay of the actual events that lead to my dismay. I have a hard time understanding why, after so long, am I stuck with my past?

Edie came to visit me today around three in the afternoon. The poor girl was breathing heavily and cried to me about her fear of not making it in time for visiting hours. I just wanted to sit still and stare at her but she knew what had happened. She urged me to tell her what I saw in my dreams, yet without my reply she went on to tell me that none of it was my fault. “That bloke deserved it Mum, you and I both know it.” Her calmness made me nauseous. What does it matter if he deserved it or not? The judges chose my fate.

She did not smile today. Her smile is the little hope I carry, but today I felt useless. Two weeks left and now I almost want to stay here. I feel watched, safe, and in a way, each day is stripped from surprises; everything happens in routine. Today, I love this morbid place.

May 15th, 2003

Edie and I went for lunch. It was a nice attempt to celebrate my return into the world, though I’m still unsure if I’m happy to be back. I don’t believe I’ve missed out on much. The telly itself has gone mad, who cares about Lindsay Lohan and another wanted arrest for her? I simply pray that my Edie continues as a bright college student – far from these luring dangers.

After lunch we spent the day unpacking and moving into our new home in New Jersey. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to adapt myself here but London was no longer fit for us. I feel a bit happier today. Hope is back to try and mend the time lost. Edie is my life and I will always protect her, even if I must kill once again, to fulfill my duties as a mother. I can’t keep her away from the world, but I can teach her to be strong. To understand that people will always be cruel and empty and ready to hurt others. I am happy. I have my daughter next to me, safe… very safe… no harm will ever come to her.

She doesn’t approve of my writing. She thinks I should talk about my feelings, rather than jot them down in a six-year-old notebook. Perhaps she is right, perhaps I should throw you out altogether. Perhaps not… I am no good at speaking, but I don’t want to worry my Edie. I love her and I know she is worried, but I am fine. I am happy.

Edie smiled all day today. She hugged me for the first time in six years. I would kill for that hug.

May 17th, 2003

I no longer feel the need to write.

© 2013 Stephanie Alfaia Gomes All Rights Reserved

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