HIS SON: CHAPTER ONE

Tricia Nielsen ✍️

The long awaited day has come. Here comes the bride as she happily walks down the aisle. I was getting married to the man of my dreams. Who could be much happier than anyone but me?

"I now pronounce you husband and wife!"

Now I'm officially a MacKenny!

~

"Ah-ah-ahh!"

The baby is coming!

It was delivery time...

Derek and I were going to have our first baby. I couldn't wait to carry her in my arms, and I was happy to know that Derek would be just by my side when she came crawling out...

******

"Told you it was gonna be a girl,"

"Ha-oh. Everyone wants a boy but you," I eyed him.

Derek was such a loving husband. I wouldn't ask for more as long as he remained by my side. My love for him was uncontrollable, and I was happy to know that I had chosen the right father for my babies.

"Babe, I think someone's at the door,"

I knew who it was already...

Mum couldn't wait to have her granddaughter in her arms, and I knew baby Lucy wanted to be all comfy in hers, too.

"Honey, say "hi" to grams,"

"Awe, she's so cute." Mum said, taking her from me.

My little girl stared into her eyes, though I knew she couldn't make out anyone yet. She had her eyes, no doubt, but took Derek's chiselled nose instead.

"She looks a lot like you, Trish," Mum said to me.

I laughed and looked down at her. "You really think so?" I looked up at Mum again, getting a nod from her.

"Though she's got my eyes," she added, pecking Lucy.

"I wonder when she'll look like me."

Derek chipped in. "When she's come of age... I guess?" he laughed and poked my sides.

❤~❤

A young girl of about seventeen looked out the window, watching the kids play happily in the street.

Her name was Lucille Mackenny. But you could call her Lucy if anyone came asking.

Lucy was the mute daughter of the MacKennys. She could not talk or hear in anyway, making her parents treat her specially. This always got their other daughter furious-and Anita, on her part, couldn't help but feel left out with her sister always in the spotlight.

"Dad. Mum. When are you going to stop giving Lucille special treatment?" asked Anita one day.

They couldn't give her what she wanted, making her dislike Lucy even more.

Lucy's life was more of staying locked in her room, bringing pictures to life, and playing the guitar. Her love for music was pure, and she hoped that her lips would make out words one day, and not have to stay still, while her fingers made gestures.

Lucille MacKenny ✍️

***Dear Diary***

I saw a boy today. His smile was like that of an angel. It felt as though we already knew, but I couldn't make out where exactly we had seen.

Gee. What am I doing? The diary isn't helping at all.

I couldn't help but wonder how it'd feel like talking with someone; and to be able to talk with dad, and hear mum bid me goodnight and not just have her communicate with me with her fingers.

Mum had bought me a diary when I was six. At that time, I had no idea what it was until she showed me the proper way to use it. Then I'd wonder why I couldn't talk like the rest of the people, or even hear what they said. It was a bit of a torture, really, but I was starting to get used to being this way.

Mum would pity seeing me in one place, would stay by my side and prefer sleeping with me than staying in her room. Seeing her miserable because of me got me all sad. I hated the fact that I was making her suffer for something that she shouldn't be blamed, and the thought of it made me worse.

Mum was really sweet-and Dad-well, he was one who was stuck at work, so he barely was home. Nevertheless, he still made out time for us, and that was one thing that made me love him the more.

I could say my family was really perfect. Well, except for the fact that my own sister hated me.

Nita and I hardly saw. And even when we did, the frightening signal the cold shoulder she gave me sent, made me not wanting to be close to her. I wanted to ask her why she hated me so much, but I couldn't, knowing there was no way that I could talk to her.

I got up from the bed and moved to the window, looked out it again and saw the same children that were there few minutes ago still playing hopscotch-a game Mum had taught Anita and me when we were little. It was hard learning it then, but with her help, I was able to get it right.

I watched for some minutes, making to leave, as a clear image hovered just below.

That boy-

I made to call, but stood mindless, knowing I'll never be able to get him to notice me.

*******

HOW'S THIS, GUYS?

❤🧡