Nescio (10)

NESCIO (10)

The daughter - all drama - was quick to dismiss.

It was his son, her brother, the father really missed.

In a far-away kingdom, increasingly bleak, he searched for the boy to whom he could not speak.

He cradled his cheek, full of misery and death. His eyes scanned the ceiling. He held onto his breath.

But, the brother continued to live in silence: a quiet albeit unintended kind of violence.

And the father, anyway, still had nothing to say. (He could no longer distinguish between night and day.)

The sister - all drama - just didn't get it. If you loved somebody, then, surely you said it?

The daughter - all drama - made a regular habit of it.

She had learned to accept it was rarely reciprocated.

Nescio (9)

NESCIO (9)

In a far off kingdom - a hazy place - the father lay down, gently cradling his face. The pain radiated beyond his being. He was no longer sure he knew what he was seeing. He was no longer sure he believed what he saw. His daughter with black hair now stood by the door. 

His daughter with black hair now stood in the room. Though she blazed like a fire, it was cold as a tomb. Chill as a shadow, she lit up the gloom with her lips dripping blood and her eyes crazed with doom.

Her father had never had much time for children. He resented the daughter's impromtu interuption. 

He took a swig from his bottle of Beaver Creek then summoned his strength in order to speak but, of course (he'd forgotten), he was now rendered mute. (The cancer had spread to his mouth and his throat. And, it hadn't been long til it ate up his tongue.)

The father found nothing to say.