The Sad Story of Annie
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Dusty Box Of Memories Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
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The old cottage was in a dilapidated state. Fifteen years had passed
Since my sister died. The only thing of interest was a dusty old box.
I lifted the lid: a broken flute, a sort of diary
And a jar, dust covered the bottom.
A note on the jar read Amy and Angela.
The box belonged to my sister Annie, now long gone.
I took the box to my cottage and opened the notebook
I flipped the pages and read here and there.
*******************************************************
Six years had passed since Jason and I got married.
How things have changed since then. Jason became violent.
He’d kill me if he were not afraid of capital punishment.
I passed the time away, accepting his rapes and playing the flute.
He hated it when I learned the melodies on my instrument.
He spent the time stealing money and getting drunk each night.
I dared not complain as he would hit me in the bare face.
Then, one day, he came early and heard me play the flute.
He snatched it from my hand and broke it in two. How vicious!
I always wanted to pass the time away. In anger, I told him
I’m pregnant. I must take my leisure time and rest peacefully.
It was the wrong thing to say.
Jason’s face turned purple. He began to hit me savagely.
He kicked me up the abdomen and my womb until I fell into a coma.
Neighbours heard the noise and called the police and an ambulance.
I came out of my coma after a week. They had operated on me,
My womb was removed, and two foetuses were put in an air-tight jar.
I found peace when I was told everything about my husband.
Jason was arrested and received long-term imprisonment.
His demeanour did not change, and he tried to bully everyone.
One day, he was found dead in the prison yard.
Time passed, I recovered, found a job, ill-paid but with food provided,
Time passed until one day, a cancer developed in my abdomen.
Soon, I'll die, having left everything to my sister.
**************************************************************
I visited her tomb and dug a hole. I buried her jar near her tomb.
Still, I kept her notes, a memory of her sorrowful demise.
I could not help but shed a tear.
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Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2025
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