This week’s less than 400 words writing prompt from ISmithWords? Bleeding.
Innocence is the price of eternal youth. Some give it up willingly, even maliciously, while some just let it slip away, but some of us are forced to regardless of how we battle against it.
It’s the way we live; we give up what is most important for what is least. We surrender the future for the now and scream out to the universe that it is what is right and fair and needed.
We grow, and age, and then grow old, but are still young at heart. Not the happy, summertime of youth but the petulant, whining toddlers who have become spoiled. Whether it is because we do not know how else to be or have chosen to stay stagnant in that existence, who knows?
We bathe in the crimson tears of innocents to wash away our age, our inconvenience, our mistakes, our ties to those we wish to leave behind. We watch them die a little more with each disappointment and argument, every episode of neglect feeding a little more into our inability to cope with adulthood and leeching a little more from their joy, their trust, their ability to hope.
The generations are bleeding one another dry. Those who wouldn’t have raised those who can’t and now we are raising those we cannot and so we let them die a little at a time over the course of years to feed our perpetual tantrums. We watch them lose their souls drop by drop with every tear they cry and, soon, they will have no souls left to cry and will bleed themselves just to feel alive because the only life they know is the one being leeched out by their parents.
This piece is not to say that there aren’t well meaning parents out there. I believe there are and I also believe I, and friends of mine, are among them. Looking at the world, looking at the chaos and the desperate lawlessness you can trace back to the home. There was a need unmet in the home where the heart was left wanting.
In my own situation, I keep thinking that if I just raise my kids “right” they will live happy, healthy, and safe lives. That is, in fact, the mantra behind all our household rules. As my eldest gets older and sees the stress between his biological father, myself, and my husband, and he is beginning to correlate those when we are stressed with when his needs are going unmet by his donor.
One day, my son will see for himself that his “father” wanted him dead. He will see that when I refused to allow that I, temporarily, was willing to allow him to be put up for adoption before he was born… he will see the conversations between his father and I where his father convinced me I would be an abusive parents because I was abused. He will see the manipulation that I was blind to.
I’m sure that, when he is old enough to see these things, he will be angry with me and his father, both, and he will be deeply hurt. And I will only be able to hope that my mistakes will lead to his wisdom, that he will forgive me my stupidities and accept my love and parenting as it was intended and not wish someone else had indeed raised him.