To Ada, nature seemed to be the only thing life could not mess with, as it does with humans. At 16, the sea had become her favorite. It was like a balm to her soul, easing her pain.
The recent experience with Papa began to replay in her mind, gaining passage into her thoughts. She wished she could stop them, she wished her brain would delete the traumatizing encounters with Papa, instead of hitting replay anytime her mind wandered.
She had done more than wishing. On many occasions, she always tried to stop thinking about the traumatic life with Papa but somehow, it was always a futile effort.
It was market day, Papa had given her money to purchase foodstuffs but unfortunately, robbers attacked her on the way. Papa’s wrathful shouting and cussing filled her ears and pierced her heart.
Tears rolled down her cheeks, as his words came back to taunt her.
‘Do you want to kill me like you killed my wife? Eh, joy killer!”
He shouted, landing quick successive slaps on her right cheek before using his belt on her scarred body. She had outgrown physical pain but the emotional assault would always sting, no matter how many times he repeated the same phrase without mincing a word.
The constant reminder that her mother died while giving her life, was a pain she couldn’t express with words. The pain was deeper than the jagged, ugly scars riddling her body. She would have cared less if her father’s hatred wasn’t inclusive. He didn’t even make any efforts to disguise his hatred, he made it obvious for everyone to see, even the blind.
To him, she killed his loving wife and caused his wretchedness. She wished her father would accept that it was not her fault Mama kicked the bucket the instant she ‘pushed’ her into the world.
She desired her father would open his eyes and see she was not an evil child. Who wouldn’t want to be showered with motherly affection? Just as he craved a wife’s love, she too craved a mother’s love! Why wouldn’t he see that?
Sometimes, she earnestly hoped he would realize she was just as unlucky as he was. After all, she lost a mother, his acceptance, and his love.
Her phone vibrated, jolting her out of her reverie, and confirming it was time to leave. Just like every other footprint staring at her, she stared back, noting the size and imprint of each one.
She stood up, shook out her flowing skirt, and took a final glance at the different sizes etched on the sand. It spoke of the different souls with diverse situations, who had also walked across the white sands of the seashore.
She wondered if people’s life torments were measured by foot sizes as well.
Has someone who lost everything, treaded here? Has someone with mild physical pain sought the peace only serenity can give?
There was no way she would know for sure, but she was grateful for the footprints, it was a reminder that she wasn’t alone in her struggles.
“A footprint holds the story of an overcomer.” She murmured to herself. The strength to continue living, and the courage to dream and hope for a better life, came from these footprints. These soldiers who had gone before her didn’t give up.
“I won’t give up.” She said into the chill air, “One day, my story will change. I will come here again, press my feet deep into the sand, and leave a story of hope.”
Wiping a lone tear that escaped her eyes, she pulled her foot from her worn rubber slippers and pressed it into the cool sand.
“One day, this sand will bear testimony of my story.” She said as she turned to leave for home; a building that reeked of sorrow, anger, and bitterness, and a family she never got to know.
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