Join Date: Feb 2008
Was it an act of contrition or some awful premonition? As if she saw into the heart of her final blood-soaked night. Those lunatic eyes, that hungry kitchen knife. Ah, I see sir, that I have your attention! Well, could it be? How often I've asked that question. Well, then in quick succession we had babies, one, two, three. We called them Hilda, Hattie and Holly. They were their mother's children. Their eyes were bright blue jewels. And they were quiet as a mouse. There was no laughter in the house. No, not from Hilda, Hattie or Holly. "No wonder", people said, "poor mother Joy's so melancholy." Well, one night there came a visitor to our little home.. I was visiting a sick friend. I was a doctor then. Joy and the girls were on their own .