This is my bit for last week’s Picture it and Write! photo prompt brought to you by the ladies over at Ermilia Blog. This is a continuation, but from a different view point, of Sweet sweet Isabel, finally got around to it. Cheers.
The wind was whipping her loosely bound hair in a frenzy. The dark blond tendrils framed her pale heart shape face, smudging the path of drying tears. She came here for the seclusion this forgotten little beach offered the adventurous ramblers that happened to stumble upon her solitary beauty. There were only a few people who could remember that this place was blocked off on purpose by prickly foliage. Jacqueline knew why, it was for the best. If her father learned of her excursions here he would be furious. Oh, she was a grown woman of thirty and two but the mere mention of it dug up buried memories of a bloody past wreathed in screams.
The past was the past, so to hell with it. It was the last time she saw her little sister, a slight figure bundled up but only a bobbing fuzzy dot in the distance as they took her away in that tiny blue boat so long ago. Jacqueline was one of the lucky ones, the fortunate ones. Life was hers to hold and command. Even then … even after the lights and glamor of the A-list scenes and the excesses at her disposal, hers was only a parody of what life should have been. Renee was gone, her trail was old and frigidly cold. Her father resigned his time to his official duties and proceeded to distance himself from his remaining child, she reminded him too much of her and how it used to be.
It’s funny, the achy sad kind of funny, how on those times when her mind let her believe that Renee is still alive, how she sometimes felt that little girl was thinking about her too. Jacqueline cried for the girl she herself once was, for the things all of them endured in the foul dark under the tender ministrations of a mad man. Maybe it was time to stop pretending that everything was okay, these lies she kept telling herself felt like heavy cloying layers of cheap make up, at least the alias was bearable. It was time to grow up.
The beach seemed to sigh in agreement as the foam laced water swallowed up her footprints. The tide was coming in, the moon had come full circle. This was her new leaf, the waters cleansing her for a hopeful new start even though it might be too late. I’ll find you, ma chérie.
Here are a few of other entries for that week: