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The journey home was filled with the satisfaction of a successful fishing trip. Emily clutched the lamp tightly in her arms while Grandpa carried a bag full of fresh fish, their scales glistening in the afternoon sun.
As they stepped inside, the familiar warmth of their home enveloped them. Emily wasted no time, rushing to find her Grandma and Uncle Joe, eager to share her unusual discovery.
"Look what I found!" she exclaimed, holding the lamp up for them to see.
Uncle Joe grinned widely. "Well, that's a neat catch, Em! Too bad we can't eat it, open it up, there might be a fish in it." He quipped with a wink.
Emily's two older sisters, Lily and Sarah, came running over, their eyes wide with curiosity. "Can we hold it?" Sarah asked eagerly.
Emily, ever possessive, pulled the lamp closer to her chest. "No, this is mine! I don't want your dirty fingers on it."
Lily, always the rational one, crossed her arms. "You know, you need to clean it. And you're terrible at cleaning things. I'm always the one who has to tidy up our room."
"It's not my fault, dumby head!" Emily shot back, her eyes narrowing. "It's all Sarah's mess."
Just then, their mother walked in, sensing the rising tension. "Alright, everyone, calm down," she said soothingly.
Grandma nodded in agreement. "Emily, before you play with your new toy, I need your help in the garden."
Emily's face fell, her stubborn streak flaring up. "But I hate gardening. it's stupid!"
Grandma chuckled softly, her eyes kind but firm. "It's a useful skill, dear. We grow what we eat, and we all need to pitch in."
Emily pouted, ready to protest, but Grandpa, overhearing from the next room, called out supportively, "Come on, Em. Listen to your Grandma. It'll be good for you."
Knowing she couldn't argue with Grandpa's wisdom, Emily reluctantly nodded. Placing the lamp on the bookshelf, she followed Grandma out into the garden.
The crisp air was filled with the scent of earth and the promise of growth. As Emily dug her hands into the soil, her mind wandered back to the mysterious lamp.
Emily and Grandma stood side by side in the modest family garden, the earth rich and dark under their feet. Grandma handed Emily a small trowel and a handful of tomato seeds.
"Now, Emily, let's start by loosening the soil," Grandma instructed, demonstrating with her own trowel. "You want to make sure it's nice and soft so the roots can grow easily."
Emily mimicked her movements, digging into the soil. "Like this?" she asked, her tone laced with a hint of reluctance.
"Exactly," Grandma replied with an encouraging smile. "Now, we'll make small holes about a foot apart. That way, the tomato plants will have enough space to grow."
As they worked, Grandma began to reminisce. "You know, your dad used to be really good at gardening."
"Yeah, that's probably why I hate it," Emily muttered, rolling her eyes.
Grandma paused, looking at her with a gentle but firm gaze. "Now don't be like that, child. Your father had a green thumb. He used to grow the biggest, juiciest tomatoes. I still don't know how he did it."
"Probably poured his liquor into the soil," Emily said with a sharp edge to her voice.
Grandma's expression turned stern. "Don't you talk about your father like that! He was a good man. He had a problem with the bottle, but he loved you."
"Not enough to stop drinking," Emily retorted, her voice quieter now.
Grandma sighed, her eyes softening. "Sometimes, adults have problems they can't let go of. They use certain things to drown those problems, and sometimes, it gets out of hand. It doesn't mean they don't love you, Emily."
"Adults are so stupid," Emily declared, frustration bubbling up inside her.
"Well, I can't disagree with you there," Grandma replied with a rueful smile.
Emily took a deep breath, the weight of her feelings evident. "I just don't understand why he couldn't just stop. If he loved us, he should have stopped."
"It's not always that simple," Grandma said softly, placing a reassuring hand on Emily's shoulder. "People try, but sometimes they need help to overcome their struggles."
Emily looked down, her fingers tracing the patterns in the soil. "I just wish things were different."
"I know, sweetheart," Grandma said, her voice filled with understanding. "But you have to remember the good times too, the times he was there for you."
Emily hesitated, her voice barely above a whisper. "Sometimes it's hard to remember anything good, Grandma. It all feels so far away."
Grandma nodded, her eyes reflecting years of wisdom and empathy. "The good memories are like seeds, Emily. They need care and attention to grow. You'll find them again."
"But what if they're just too hard to find?" Emily asked, a hint of desperation seeping through.
"They're there, my dear. It just takes time," Grandma reassured, her voice steady. "And we're all here to help you find them."
Emily's eyes filled with tears, frustration mingling with the sadness she couldn't quite articulate. "Grandpa should have been my dad, not a stupid drunk," she said, her voice trembling.
"That's enough, Emily," Grandma said, her voice firm but calm.
"NO! He's stupid, you're stupid... this gardening is stupid... YOU'RE ALL STUPID!" Emily shouted, her emotions spilling over.
"Hold your tongue, Missy, or you won't be eating dinner tonight," Grandma warned, her voice steady.
Emily's face flushed with anger and hurt. Taking Grandma's words literally, she bit her tongue to hold back her words and ran away, tears stinging her eyes.
Grandma watched Emily run away, shaking her head sadly. As she returned to her work in the garden, she murmured to herself, "When a tree is sick, sometimes its illness touches the apples it bears. Unresolved problems can cast their shadow on the next generation. But every apple has the chance to find its own strength and sweetness. it's up to each apples branch to find its own light."
With a weary sigh, she continued tending to the garden, hoping that Emily would one day understand the complexities of love and forgiveness.
Meanwhile, Emily stormed back into the house, her footsteps heavy with frustration. She stomped across the living room, leaving a trail of dirt in her wake.
Her mother looked up, noticing the mess. "Emily, take off your shoes! You're tracking dirt inside. What happened? Why aren't you gardening with Grandma?"
Emily, her face flushed with anger, kicked off her shoes and flung them against the wall, causing a small cloud of dirt to scatter across the floor. "Grandma should just grow roots and turn into a tomato herself! I'm not gardening anymore!"
"I'M NOTHING LIKE MY DAD!" she shouted, her voice echoing through the house. With that, she bolted up the stairs, her mother calling after her.
"Emily!" her mother called, concern lacing her voice. But Emily didn't stop; she ignored her mother's call and retreated to her room, slamming the door behind her.
In the sudden silence that followed, her mother stood there, the weight of Emily's words hanging in the air, wondering how to reach her daughter through the turmoil of her emotions.
Moments after Emily retreated to her room, a gentle knock echoed on her door. Emily, still fuming, yelled, "Go away!"
"It's me, sweetheart," came the familiar and comforting voice of her grandpa.
Emily hesitated, her voice softening slightly. "Whatever," she replied, her tone still carrying a hint of attitude but less so because it was Grandpa.
He entered the room quietly, closing the door behind him with care. He took a seat beside her, the weight of his presence both calming and reassuring.
"Emily," he began, his voice gentle and filled with understanding. "I know things are tough right now. Sometimes adults make mistakes they can't take back, and your dad... he had a battle he couldn't win alone."
She glanced at him, her eyes filled with confusion and hurt. "Grandma said he loved us, but if he did, why didn't he stop?"
Grandpa sighed, searching for the right words. "Addiction is like a storm, sweeping through a person's life. It's not about loving or not loving someone. It's a struggle that clouds judgment and drowns out everything else."
Emily listened, her anger slowly giving way to a flicker of understanding. "But you taught me that you have to earn forgiveness," she insisted, clinging to what she knew.
"That's true, my dear," Grandpa nodded, taking her small hands in his. "But sometimes, forgiveness isn't for the other person-it's for you. To let yourself heal and move on."
"He doesn't deserve my forgiveness!" Emily exclaimed, her voice rising again. "He loved his drinks more than he loved us."
Grandpa started to protest, "That's not true, Emily-"
But before he could finish, Emily screamed, "I HATE HIM!" Her words hung in the air, filled with all the pain and confusion of a child struggling to understand.
Seeing the deep hurt in her eyes, Grandpa tried to console her, even as he felt the sharp sting of her words. "Emily, I know it feels that way now. But holding onto hate will only hurt you. Sometimes, forgiving is about finding peace for yourself."
Emily turned away, her emotions too tangled to unravel in that moment.
"I'll be here when you're ready to talk more," Grandpa said softly, rising to leave. As he walked to the door, he paused, offering her one last piece of wisdom. "Remember, sweetheart, carrying anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to suffer."
Though his words might have gone over her head for now, he hoped they would plant a seed of understanding for the future. With a heavy heart, he left her room, gently closing the door behind him.
Hours passed, and as night fell, a delicious aroma wafted through the house, reaching Emily in her room. Her stomach grumbled, the hunger finally overpowering her lingering anger. She decided to head downstairs, but halfway down the stairs, her mom caught sight of her.
"And where do you think you're going, Missy?" her mom asked, her voice firm.
"Downstairs to get ready for dinner," Emily replied, trying to sound nonchalant.
"I don't think so," her mom replied, crossing her arms. "Grandma told me how you talked to her, and you're not eating downstairs tonight. In fact, I wouldn't give you dinner at all after the way you disrespected her, but Grandma insisted. So, you owe her an apology tomorrow. For now, you're going up to your brother's room to eat."
"I don't want to eat in my brother's room-it stinks!" Emily protested, her frustration bubbling up again.
"I don't care," her mom said firmly. "You're eating in your brother's room."
Emily opened her mouth to argue, but her mom raised a finger, warning her. "If you say another word, I'm making you go outside and get a switch."
Filling with anger but knowing better than to argue further, Emily stomped back upstairs. She ran to her room, grabbing her lantern, then stomped to her brother's room, slamming the door behind her. In her frustration, she threw the lantern against the wall, though thankfully it did not break.
She dropped onto the bed, burying her face into a pillow, yelling and crying, "It stinks in here! I hate everybody!"
The walls of her brother's room held her cries, leaving her alone with her tangled emotions.
About thirty minutes later, there was a gentle knock at the door. Emily ignored it, her stubbornness still firmly in place. The door creaked open, and her mother peeked in, saying softly, "It's dinner, honey."
"I don't want it," Emily lied, her pride battling her hunger.
"Well, I'll just leave it here, just in case you change your mind," her mother said, placing the plate on the dresser before closing the door.
Emily tried to ignore her grumbling stomach, as if staging a little strike, but she couldn't last more than fifteen minutes before she walked over, picked up the plate, and started to eat.
After finishing her food, she set down her plate and walked over to where she had thrown the lantern. Picking it up, she noticed it was warm-almost hot-on the verge of being uncomfortable to touch. She examined it closely, tracing its intricate designs with her fingers.
The lantern was a fascinating artifact, its surface adorned with elaborate engravings that glimmered in the dim light. The metal was of a deep, aged bronze, with delicate patterns swirling around its rounded body, reminiscent of ancient scrollwork. At the top, the spout curved elegantly, like the neck of a graceful swan, ending in a carefully crafted opening. The handle was sturdy, yet artfully twisted, inviting her fingers to explore its smooth contours. Tiny jewels, or what looked like them, were set into the design, catching the light and casting a mysterious glow. As she held it, she imagined it might have been plucked from a pharaoh's tomb, its secrets sealed within for centuries.
"This looks old, like from Egyptian times," she mused, recalling something her uncle had once said about antiques.
Thinking with her imaginative young mind, she pondered aloud, "Maybe there's a fish inside," and tried to take the top off, but it wouldn't budge, no matter how hard she pulled.
As she struggled with the lamp, she heard giggles and muffled laughter from her sisters in the room next door, which made her feel even more angry and jealous. She gritted her teeth, about to yell for them to "shut up," but then she heard her mother's voice telling them it was time to calm down and go to sleep. The lights clicked off, and the sounds went silent.
Hearing footsteps outside her door, Emily stood still, not making a move. She remained absolutely silent as the footsteps paused in front of her door for ten or so seconds before retreating back downstairs.
Once the coast was clear, Emily turned on the light to get a better look at the lantern. She rummaged through her brother's drawers, searching for something to clean it with, and opened a drawer to find her brother's underwear. "Ew, gross," she muttered, pushing it aside.
Finally, she found a handkerchief in the closet. She grabbed a glass of water from the nightstand, wet the handkerchief, and sat back on the bed. Taking the lantern in her hands again, she began to clean it.
As she wiped the lantern, she noticed a slight vibration. Ignoring it, she kept wiping until the shaking became more pronounced. "OH MY GOODNESS, THERE IS A FISH IN IT!" she exclaimed. The vibrating and shaking intensified, and she threw the handkerchief aside, pulling with all her might to try and open it. "I'LL SAVE YOU, FISHY!"
Suddenly, the lantern slipped from her grasp, and she moaned in pain. "OUCHY!" she exclaimed, looking at her hands, now red from the heat. The lantern lay on the ground, flopping and flipping around, steaming and turning red hot, leaving burn marks on the floor. In pure shock, she sat there, watching it.
Suddenly, the lights started to flicker, and a big plume of smoke emerged from the lantern's spout. The smoke twisted and twirled around itself, dancing in the air. Squeaking in fear, Emily hid under her bed, pulling the draped sheet over herself.
Peeking out from under the sheet, she saw the smoke filling the room, flashes of light illuminating it like a lightning storm, gusts of wind knocking over baseball trophies and pictures from the walls. She let the sheet drape back down and screamed, "MOMMY!"
Then, as suddenly as it began, everything stopped.
Moments later, she heard the bed creak. The sheet slowly lifted, and she scooted as far back as she could under the bed. Her heart pounded in her chest as she saw a dark blue head slowly poking downward, looking under the bed while its body remained atop.
The figure, with skin of a very dark blue that radiated a slightly lighter navy hue. Its large eyes were striking, where the whites should have been a deep purple, and the irises were a dark orange. Its mouth stretched into a huge smile that covered half its face, revealing big white teeth.
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The figure spoke in a soothing, almost playful voice, "Mommy will be here soon, Emily."
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