For That Girl She Does Not Know the Name Of
Nov 13, 2014 4:48:00 GMT
Post by Tel Vinrae on Nov 13, 2014 4:48:00 GMT
Momoka goes to that dirty alleyway with a wooden bowl of steamed rice and hot vegetables and fish and a cup of tea, and rests it upon crate there. If it is left untouched, she simply exchanges it. Every night she does this - every night. Sometimes she sits there and waits for a time. For that girl she does not know the name of.
The clothes she had bought, clean and warm and fresh, had been already neatly folded and settled between fresh undergarments and a brand new pair of shoes that seemed her size - all wrapped tightly within her komebukuro. For the girl she had wanted to better the future for. For that girl she does not know the name of.
She left a kettle on the fire. She had a small container of stew resting above the coals just in case. A night dress, neatly folded on the chair near the hearth of her room where she had a second bed put in from the room. For that girl she does not know the name of.
A candle burns within the window now, covered by a brightly coloured paper lantern. Just in case, as if to guide someone's way to a place they could call safe - as if it said to some secret person 'I am home and waiting.' Every night, it burns. For that girl she does not know the name of.
Momoka was knelt upon the ground of her room in the Canals, above the business. She says a prayer to her ancestors. She says a prayer to her mother, for her to protect the girl as she had protected Momoka, as she guided her even still, to ask her mother to watch the girl, wherever she is, wherever she has gone, and to lead her back to her so that she may be able to offer her a better future. She didn't know where she had gone, or how it had happened, but she prayed that she was warm. That her belly was fully, and that people showed her kindness.
All of this she did and continues to do, for the girl that she will never forget. For that girl she does not know the name of.
The clothes she had bought, clean and warm and fresh, had been already neatly folded and settled between fresh undergarments and a brand new pair of shoes that seemed her size - all wrapped tightly within her komebukuro. For the girl she had wanted to better the future for. For that girl she does not know the name of.
She left a kettle on the fire. She had a small container of stew resting above the coals just in case. A night dress, neatly folded on the chair near the hearth of her room where she had a second bed put in from the room. For that girl she does not know the name of.
A candle burns within the window now, covered by a brightly coloured paper lantern. Just in case, as if to guide someone's way to a place they could call safe - as if it said to some secret person 'I am home and waiting.' Every night, it burns. For that girl she does not know the name of.
Momoka was knelt upon the ground of her room in the Canals, above the business. She says a prayer to her ancestors. She says a prayer to her mother, for her to protect the girl as she had protected Momoka, as she guided her even still, to ask her mother to watch the girl, wherever she is, wherever she has gone, and to lead her back to her so that she may be able to offer her a better future. She didn't know where she had gone, or how it had happened, but she prayed that she was warm. That her belly was fully, and that people showed her kindness.
All of this she did and continues to do, for the girl that she will never forget. For that girl she does not know the name of.
