Mementos of Memories

A girl in a tattered white dress sat alone in a quiet house, silent tears carving a porcelain trail down her dirty cheeks.  A box of trinkets laid out in front of her, mementos of memories. She loved to surround herself with beautiful things, to dull the pain of her damaged life.  Pieces of history all telling one story or another.  There is a piece of broken glass in the box, dyed red.  A broken string of pearls torn free from an ivory neck.  A pocket watch, cracked and broken.  A silver money clip, dull and tarnished with age.  A large steel key to a jewelry box long lost and forgotten. The china face of a favorite doll, the last link to a dismembered childhood. 
         A treasure box full of stories from a mutilated life.  She girl tried to forget them all but no matter how she hid they were always there to haunt her. To keep her chained to the pieces, never letting her go.  She sat on the cold linoleum floor singing to herself, a failed attempt at comfort. She laid her head down in the warm pool of blood that was slowly surrounding her.  She had struggled for a freedom that would never come and had finally allowed herself to be taken over.  She fingered the scattered memories in front of her tracing them through her crimson pain.  She sang the lullaby her mother had sang to her and slowly let go of all her pain, she closed her eyes and embraced the freedom of death.