"Am I good enough yet? Have I done something wrong?" the little girl peers out of the young woman eyes.
"Why doesn't she hug us any more?" she whispers to the aging woman beside her.
"She's tired, sweetheart. She'll come hug us when she's had some rest."
The little girl nods, curling on the chair. A noise comes rushing through the ears and the little girl tightens. "Why is she so angry all the time?" she asks, tears pricking at the words. "Why doesn't she tell us we're pretty and clever and she's proud of us any more?"
"She's stressed, my love. She'll come tell us when work gets easier." The aging woman touches her forehead, seeking to wipe away the fear.
The girl nods, playing with the end of her sleeves. "Why doesn't she listen to us when we talk to her any more, or take us out for tea? Why is she always checking her phone or telling us not now?"
"She's lonely, my dear. She'll spend time with us when she can."
The little girl nods, a tear trickling down her cheek. "Why doesn't SHE help us anymore? Why does she complain about needing to do things for us?"
"She's busy, my precious. She'll come help us when she's not as busy." The aging woman stoops to hug her.
The little girl nods, hiding her face in the pillow. "Why doesn't she buy us things any more? Doesn't she think about us any more?"
"She has other things to buy, my treasure. She'll buy something for us when the time is right. Hush now, my child. Don't say anything, don't cry. That'll only make things worse. Be brave, be strong."
"I can't."
"Yes, you can. Come on. We have work to do. We've just got to put our heads down and work."
"Will they want us then?"
"Who, my dear?"
"Everyone."
"I don't know. Why?"
The little girl doesn't answer, she just stares at the pile of work in front of her. "We can't do it. We don't have enough time, We don't have enough knowledge."
"Yes, we can. We're smart. At least... that's what they say."
"You're scared too." The little girl looks at her.
"Scared, no. Tired? Yes. So very tired."
"They don't want us, do they?"
"Who, my dear?"
"Everyone."
"Why do you say that?"
"I don't know. But I wouldn't want us either."
"Why, my dear?"
"Because we're scared, we're tired, we're ugly, we're not good enough."
"Hush, child. Don't believe those lies. We have to do our work."
"We can't" she begins to cry in earnest, soaking the pillow.
"Why not, my dear?"
"We can't do it! It won't be good enough. We don't know enough. We don't understand enough. We're stupid and worthless."
"Hush, hush..." the aging woman pulls her close, stroking her hair. "Have you spoken with Daddy?" she asks, her eyes lingering on the words that were fading in the black of their room.
The little girl shook her head. "We don't have time. There's always work to be doing."
"Do you miss Him?"
The little girl nodded.
"Do you want to talk to Him?"
The little girl nodded again.
"Talk to Him."
"We can't."
"Why not?"
"We need to do our work. They'll get angry." Her little girl hands tremble as they reach for her books.
"We can't please everyone."
"Why aren't we good enough?"
"Why do you say that?"
"I'm scared."
"Daddy loves us. He says we're good enough. He says we're beautiful. He says we please Him."
The little girl smiled. "Daddy would know."
No comments:
Post a Comment