100 Years Project Anthology

“Ellie!” She says with genuine shock as if she forgot that I lived
here. “Well…” She hesitates, getting quieter.
“Mum…” I whisper.
I feel shy under my daughter’s questioning gaze. “Ellie…I…”
“What’s wrong? Won’t you trust me?” I plead with her, never realising
how much we were separated; choosing to live our lives apart.
“Mum?”
“Ellie, you’ll forever be that gem I need to protect,” I find myself
repeating words of the poem I had written. “You’re too precious to
be chipped, or broken, or lost.”
There’s a flow to her words that I recognise. I get flashes of myself
sitting at my desk and staring out the window, trying to process my
life. With lines sometimes rhyming, sometimes just flowing.
“Mum…” My shield breaks and tears flow. I turn and run. Vaguely I
hear her calling,
“Ellie… Ellie, wait!” In a flurry I’m at my desk; grabbing pages. I’m
unaware through my fog of sadness, sorrow, and fear. I turn determined,
wiping the tears from my face. I get a slight shock when I see