• Why did I live? The thought ran through her head, through the deepest of her soul, she could not find a way to release it. It was trapped, and for what she knew, it could never come out. She would never know the answer, it would haunt her her whole life. For her father was dead, and he could not say, and her mother was drunk 24/7, so she could not even get out of bed.
    To ask her mother would be a nightmare. She could imagine it, the look on her mother's face
    and the reply. Complete horror, to what she knew, because, she knew.

    She was brave enough to ask. She was brave enough to face her mother. Her mother was drunken in bed, watching a sitcom. She stepped to her mother and asked right then and there.
    "Why did I live?" she asked. Her mother rolled her head to her helpless daughter and burped. She smiled. "You father, er, your, um," she fell on her pillow. "Dad," her daughter replied. Her mother sat up.
    "Tha's the one," she gurgled. She spat on the floor. Her daughter felt sick.
    "He told me not to, and I listened. Was I a fool!" she cackled. Her daughter started to leave.
    "Wait!" her mother called. Her daughter turned back around. "Get the bucket, now!" she yelled.Her daughter ran for the bucket. Her mother vomited into it. Her mother threw a glass at her daughter's head. She fell to the floor. Her mother snored.

    She got to her feet an hour later. Her mother was still asleep. She moved to a box in the corner that had her favorite thing inside. It was a picture of her and her father, months before he died.
    They smiled and hugged and looked like they were having a grand time. On the top left hand corner on the back of the photo read:
    2002- Daddy and Rose, my little rose at six.

    She cried and cried, and fell to her knees. For the goodness of her father kept her still alive.
    He was a blessing from heaven. Thank you.

    My little Rose. My little Rose.