A Story by David Darabian

When I awoke she was standing there quietly looking at me with an amused expression on her face. "You talk in your sleep". She said.

   "I do?" I said. Replying her as if her being there was perfectly normal. Her name was Abigail, a name with Biblical references and named so even though neither I nor Nora were religious, and she was my daughter. She had her purple dress on and her bare feet was buried in the fur next to the bed. It was early morning and the night before had been a rough one, rougher than most. I suddenly became aware of the empty bottles that lay sprawled out on the floor, knocked down from the night stand. She giggled, a sound so innocent and heartwarming it removed any trace of alcohol left in my body, and scurried into the other room. Any embarrassment I had felt for the stage she'd found me in was replaced by worry.

   "Wait." I called after her and hurried up from bed, nearly tripping over the bottles as I rushed after her into the kitchen. She was carrying a large pitcher filled to the brim with chocolate milk that was splashing onto the floor as she carried it towards the kitchen table. The table was set for one, with a slice of toasted bread, butter and jam.

   "I made you breakfast." She said and motioned me to take a seat. When I did she filled my mug and sat down next to me.

   "Aren't you hungry?" She asked after a while, seeing that I hadn't touched my food, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from her. Her long and brown curly hair that lay across her shoulders, her rosy cheeks and her smile that missing a few milk teeth, her short and stubby ankles, her feet that dangled in the air; not yet grown enough to reach the floor. After some effort I finally I managed to spread some jam on the slice of bread and take a bite. My empty stomach gave away a deep rolling sound of approval.

   "I knew you were!" She said and clapped her hands.

"You must take care of yourself better, daddy." She said in a worried tone, her eyes cast downward and her fingers tugging at a loose thread on her dress. "Don't do that." I said. "You'll ruin the dress. Let mummy fix it."

"Mommy isn't here anymore..." She said and trailed off. "...And neither am I. Remember?"




© 2015 David Darabian

Author's Note

David Darabian
Haven't written in years but it's nice to finally start again.

My Review

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So glad you are back to writing. What a great start, the father being watched over by the ghost of his daughter. Where will it go from here? You did an excellent job of capturing my attention. I can't wait to see the story unfold.

Posted 1 Year Ago

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Added on November 5, 2015
Last Updated on November 5, 2015


David Darabian
David Darabian

Stockholm, Sweden

My name is David Darabian. I'm born and raised in a town called Lund in Sweden and I like most of you guys here I love creativity. Let's inspire each other! ...Yeah I know, lousy presentation. Not p.. more..

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