GLOOM AND DOOM VERSION
(A/N: I made two versions of this, the sappy version (this one) and a more light hearted take on this. I've got this iead, but not sure what to do with it and where to start :P Any comments and critics are welcomed!
Oh, and any suggestions for names? Daught of a Victim seems so cliche XD)
It made the front page of the newspapers the next morning. Thick black letters were sprawled all over the page and in the center stood the picture of the sad yellow house.
People read on to absorb all the juicy details of the murder, whether they be relevant or not. It was written that his nine year old daughter phoned the police to report her father lying just outside the front gate in a pool of his own blood. It was written that he was dead before the police arrived and it was a targeted kill. From their perspectives, he was just one less potential criminal to be cautious of.
They never get the details right.
This story will be on the news and papers for about another day or two, then slowly fading away into another mere name and place. Eventually, the murder will be lumped into a group with all the other killings that happened and sooner or later, something else will happen to some other poor family and this one would be forgotten.
And if it ever was, all people will remember was the death of a gang member.
Usually no one wonders what happened of the family, if for a second they thought there was a family. Gangs are suppose to be stoic and dark, the members fearful and heartless. Gang members are suppose to be covered in tattoos and smoke yet it was the media that brought light to the girl that he was part of one.
Well, he had a son who was just recovering from a major surgery and a wife who loves art and literature. He had a daughter who was getting ready for bed when she heard the unfamiliar rings of gunshots just outside her window. They lived in a beautiful neighbourhood with a lovely yellow house and a vivid green garden surrounding it.
Imagine how just a few small bullets can tear it all away from them.
Now she lives off of the fading, bittersweet memories of her childhood. She's caught in between two roads; one promising the eventual freedom of these memories and the other telling her to scribble down as much as she can before the girl wakes up one day and forgets the small yet painfully important details, like which way he parted his hair.
Though it's better to forgive and forget, the thoughts are just bursting at the seams.
And now my fingers are flying on the keyboard, unwilling to stop.