Killa's profile

I stared into her emerald green eyes as I held her tiny three-foot frame, her hair, like black velvet, caressing my arms. She was five and in her eyes I could see a wisdom not usually born in one so young, wisdom that, in part, I had given her. The knowledge of ones own death it a universal feeling transcending all aspects of life, even age. In those eyes I could tell she knew that she was dying. "Where is my daddy?" She asked, little flecks of blood drying at the corners of her mouth. Lookin...

I stared into her emerald green eyes as I held her tiny three-foot frame, her hair, like black velvet, caressing my arms. She was five and in her eyes I could see a wisdom not usually born in one so young, wisdom that, in part, I had given her. The knowledge of ones own death it a universal feeling transcending all aspects of life, even age. In those eyes I could tell she knew that she was dying. "Where is my daddy?" She asked, little flecks of blood drying at the corners of her mouth. Lookin...

I held her close to me as she shed her few final tears. I'd been doing that for the past hour or more. Her eyes were puffy and swollen as she looked at me. The bruise on her cheek finaly having reached it's full growth. "Why do you let him do this to you?" I asked, though I already knew the answer. "It was my fault." she slurred as the pain of doing so wracked her small frame. "I shouldn't have yelled at him." I held her close to me and quietly thought. It was times like these when I wanted t...

It was nine-thirty at night and the wind had picked up a little causing leaves to gently flow along the cool pavement. She stood in the doorway of her apartment building waiting for her friend, David; he would be there any minute. Like clockwork every Friday night the two of them would go for a night out on the town. They would stay out till about two or three in the morning then he would drop her off, she would hug him, kiss his cheek, then, as he had a thousand times before, he would leave...

I stared into her emerald green eyes as I held her tiny three-foot frame, her hair, like black velvet, caressing my arms. She was five and in her eyes I could see a wisdom not usually born in one so young, wisdom that, in part, I had given her. The knowledge of ones own death it a universal feeling transcending all aspects of life, even age. In those eyes I could tell she knew that she was dying. "Where is my daddy?" She asked, little flecks of blood drying at the corners of her mouth. Lookin...