First Narrative

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Ella's Story

The warm but tattered blanket was slowly tugged from beneath me as I sat at the foot of the bed watching her toss and turn in a disruptive sleep. Tears fell not only from her eyes, but her forehead and neck as well. Thoughts raced through my head, wondering what was wrong and what I could do. Whimpering, I nudged her limp arm and a subtle moan was released from her mouth. There was a thick pounding in my chest as I rushed into her parents room, with a more forceful nudge on her father's large hand than I had given to her. His nightshirt smelled like smoke, yet I dragged him into the room with a strong tug. I felt hopeless sitting there in the corner as both of them felt Ella's head as she lay limp in her father's arms, no matter how much they shook her. Looking through the distorted image the cold rain created on the glass, I sat at the door watching headlights dim and feeling the sinking of a broken heart. Still vapid and limp, they carried her back in three hours later and placed her in the bed.

My little angel, the girl that made me want to wake up every morning, the one miracle I savored each day, was now as lifeless as her doll which lay next to her.

Rays of broken light shone in on her pink glowing cheeks as I watched from my usual bedside spot. Beautiful, innocent, and so young, yet she looked so helpless lying there trying to get herself up. I felt an icy hand touch the back of my neck, but I didn't mind this time. She needed me, and I was there for her every step.

It felt like yesterday, though it was a long 6 months ago, when she would chase me up and down the cape, with the sand being kicked out from under our feet. Her laugh, so soothing to me as I shook my wet coat on her heat drenched pale skin. Never in my life had I felt so happy as that summer, when everything was right with the world, and the glow in her eyes shone brighter than the sun.

Tap...tap...tap. That's all I could hear coming from her breakfast plate. Her eggs never ran, and her toast never crunched. I rushed outside ready for our usual morning swing, which remained as a tradition unless it was snowing or raining heavily. Unfortunately, even a day as beautiful as this could not bring her beautiful young face through that door.

To this day, I still sit outside after breakfast next to her rusted baby blue swing, hoping her intoxicating laughter will burst through that door and miraculously clear my now clouded and rusted old mind. I still sleep in her bed, with that same old tattered blanket, which now only covers pillows and her favorite doll. I cannot begin to describe the loneliness in that little room, only that it began even before she was gone. It began on that cold night, while her limp body hung in her father’s arms. Sometimes I still feel her presence on my fur, stroking it with her tiny, cold hands.

Never will I let slip away those unforgettable memories of our few short years together, no matter how quickly I age. Never will I forget my beautiful Ella, her undeniably uplifting laughter, and the comforting touch of her soft skin, which to this day, never leaves my side.