Grief Filled Heart

Perhaps if I wasn't so selfish my father would still be alive. If only I had thought more of others, then maybe I wouldn't be so lonely. I have no one else to blame but myself. Looking back, I can see that it was all my fault.

It was my birthday. A day that was supposed to be happy, a day that nothing goes wrong. Sadly, this time everything fell apart. It started out like all of my other birthdays. I woke up to the smell of pancakes cooking along with bacon, which was rare these days. I walked out of my small bedroom in our family's Order-approved apartment, and hugged my dad. It was just me and him now. The Order came and took my mother away the day I turned ten.

My dad led me to the small table and rickety old chair, on the table sat a small stack of pancakes on our single cracked plate. Not even thinking of sharing the food with my dad, I ended up eating all but one piece of bacon. For the first time in months I felt full. The Order wasn't known for providing food to those beneath it.

I sat back in the chair and watched him clean up the mess from my breakfast. Even though it was my sixteenth birthday, I acted like a five-year-old. When he was done with the clean-up, he grabbed my threadbare jacket and held it out to me. I slipped my arms into the sleeves that were getting tight, and headed towards the door. I waited impatiently for him to get his coat on. After being stuck in the apartment I was ready to go outside.

My father opened the door and ushered me outside. Despite the fact that the world beyond our door was ravaged by the war, it was beautiful to me. We lived in what remained of New York City, not too far from Central Park. The people who sold goods had set up a small market there, and that's where we were headed. If you wanted to buy something that The Order doesn't normally let the people have, then you headed to the market. What was ironic to me, is that quite often you would see members of The Order at the market.

The air outside was brisk, as it was late fall, and barely any people were to be seen traversing the fractured streets. I stumbled a few times due to the sidewalk being riddled with holes torn into it by the war. Every now and then we would have to walk around bombed-out cars, but eventually we made it to the market.

Now that I am older, I can't help feeling guilty for the way I acted at the market that day. You would have thought I was the daughter of the leader of The Order. Every time my father pointed something out to me that he thought I would like, I turned my nose up at it. I acted like such a spoiled brat!

It had started to get late when I finally saw what I wanted, a locket. It wasn't on a table for sale. It wasn't lying on the ground for anyone to grab up. No, it was around the neck of a member of The Order. Members of The Order are easy to spot. They look well fed, better clothed, and they wear a green insignia on their left shoulder. Normally I wouldn't bother with them, but I recognized that locket. It was my mother's.

I told my dad what I wanted and motioned towards the lady wearing it. My dad looked where I was pointing and his eyes widened. He shook his head no and told me to choose something else. But like the brat I was, I refused to choose something else. After wandering around some more, my dad bought a few items that we needed, and we headed home.

Tears welled up in my eyes when we arrived at our apartment. I stormed into my room and threw myself dramatically onto my bed. I was throwing such a fit that I didn't hear the front door open and close. I fell asleep after exhausting myself.

I woke up to my bed dipping under the weight of my father sitting beside me. No words were exchanged, and in his hand he held my mother's locket. It was a small golden heart on a thin chain. It might seem insignificant to someone else, but to me it held memories of happiness and love.

My father's self sacrifice is what ultimately led to my feeling so guilty and alone. Two days later, several armed guards came to our house and demanded to know where the locket was. My father told them that he pawned it for a loaf of bread. They didn't believe his story, so they took him away. Just our luck that the lady he stole the locket from ended up being a general's wife.

Perhaps if I hadn't been so impudent my father would still be with me. I could blame The Order for my anguish, but in my heart, I would still blame myself. The Order stole my mother, and my selfishness gave them my father. All of this grief has been caused by the heart shaped locket.