On Rotation: Mother and Daughter

On rotations—at the medical examiner.

What makes a mother execute her loving daughter in her slumber? A father’s touch. The mother had left a letter. Something to the extent of, “If I can’t divorce you, then you can’t be a husband to me or a father to your daughter.” and “You will never touch her again.” and “We are in God’s arms now.” She would have killed to see the look on his face. The irony. She was dead.

There lie two bodies. Mother and daughter. They were in the daughter’s room. Perfectly pink. Two twin beds with a white bedside table in between. The second bed was untouched. Frilly pink bedspread with a frilly pink pillow on top. Dolls in dresses and stuffed animals of all colors. The daughter lie still in her bed, under the covers, asleep forever. She was asleep wearing pink pajamas with dolls and flowers all around. She had a pink teddy bear under her arms. Her Goldie Locks hair looked as if it was placed perfectly on her pillow. She looked peaceful. Her veins were starting to show on her face. Her cheeks ghost white from the loss of blood. Her blood oozing from her head and chest onto her pillow and mattress. Her mother wanted to make absolutely sure her daughter would not be hurt anymore.

They had been out of contact from family and friends for a couple of days. Which meant their faces had turned to decay. The mother’s face had turned livid (lividity had shown) The mother, who had blown her head away by means of swallowing the the nozzle, lie on the floor. She looked almost taken aback from the impact. Her best rifle was by her side. She was a bit plump, but the two days of neglect and the heater being turned on in the house made her swell even more. She hadn’t even changed into her bed clothes that night. She was still in her blue jeans and a red sweat shirt.

Did she say good night and tuck her daughter in that night? One would hope so.

Her eleven year old daughter had been taking target lessons for a few years. Her daughter was a good shot. She had won shooting competitions. Trophies were all around her room. Did she shoot her daughter and herself with her daughter’s own gun? Or did the mother have a gun of her own?

Is it right to want to protect your child to the death? That poor little girl. She was doomed from birth.

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