(Dark Passion Play Series) Eva

6:30 winter morn
Snow keeps falling, silent dawn
A rose by any other name
Eva leaves her Swanbrook home
A kindest heart which always made
Me ashamed of my own
She walks alone but not without her name1

Eva flies away
Dreams the world far away
In this cruel children's game
There's no friend to call her name
Eva sails away
Dreams the world far away
The Good in her will be my sunflower field2

Mocked by man to depths of shame
Little girl with life ahead
For a memory of one kind word
She would stay among the beasts
Time for one more daring dream
Before her escape, edenbeam
We kill with her own loving heart 3

Eva flies away
Dreams the world far away
In this cruel children's game
There's no friend to call her name
Eva sails away
Dreams the world far away
The Good in her will be my sunflower field 4

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~5

Eva lay awake in her bed, as she had many mornings before. She didn’t dare sleep, for fear of the nightmares that would come. But she also feared fully awaking to the life outside the comforts of her bedroom. So she stayed in-between, neither unconscious nor aware. 6

Looking up to the pale peach roof in the room of her Swanbrook home, her mind wandered to the dreams she made for herself, in a world she knew could never exist. Another small piece of her heart shattered as her mind became flooded with the words and memories she could not shake.7

It had been the same for as long as she could remember, living in the home. Her father and mother had died in an accident, one that left her, a 2 year old child at the time, with serious injuries resulting in a deformed face. Children could be cruel, she knew that well. Those in the home avoided her, and those at her small school mocked her to no end. 8

Looking over to the clock, showing 6:30am, she felt there was no other choice. No longer could she muster the strength to get up and face the things she had been submitted to all her life.9

Rising slowly, she dressed, putting on a heavy jacket and grabbing her raggedy teddy before making her way down the stairs and sneaking out of the home. She jogged down the street as the snow fell on her small figure. She could not feel the cold on her face, the scars destroying many of the nerves. 10

None had ever spoken a kind word to her, much less come to her protection, called her name as they ran to help her. For just one friend, she would keep pushing on, keep fighting despite the way she was treated. But none would bother. None would say a word. 11

A tear ran down her face as she slowed to a walk. She touched her eye, recently blacked out by the boys in her class. They had told her it didn’t make much difference, no one would even notice the eye past the mess of her face. And they were right, the teachers paid no mind to the slowly forming bruise.12

She had become ashamed of what she was, of where she came from. She had kindness and hope unimaginable for children of the current time, an innocence and naivety taken for granted by so many. She thought of the times she helped those who tormented her, only to have it thrown back in her face, reminding herself of her own worthlessness. She tried hard to be helpful, to show the best side, praying one day someone would treat her the same way. Those dreams were naïve, she had found.13

As she walked through the bushes and trees of the park she saw a small white flower, it’s petals torn as it lay atop the snow. She picked it up gently, cradling it as she began to walk again, singing a soft tune she remembered being taught as a baby, before the crash. Her vice ran through the deserted land as only a child’s can.14

Finally reaching her destination, a river in the valley below the park, she lay facing the sky, letting the tears fall. She could hold on no longer, she needed to get away from it all. She let herself fade into the daydreams that gave her hope all those years as the sun rose above the trees behind her.15

Finally she rose from the snow, pulling her jacket tightly around her as she looked at the river, not yet frozen over. It ran surprisingly fast and straight, but to where, she would never know.16

Dragging a log from the riverbank, she began to place it in the water. Just as the water began to catch it, she held the flower and her teddy tight against her, jumping in and holding onto it. She imagined herself sailing as it took her down the river, the water becoming rougher. Swanbrook never saw the 9 year old again, no one ever discovering her fate, not a body, nor a life, downstream.17