The mother who killed her daughter

At the court;
      Her face was pale but the smile on her lips proclaimed pride and happiness while inside the wooden building facing the laws of the land. The verdict awarded her with a capital punishment for one of the most sinful things a woman could ever do which enlightened her paled face to the maximum like an old building recently coated with a white paint. When she was asked by a reporter outside the court “what was the motive behind killing her child”; all she said was “I am glad that I could do it”. She heard someone saying “ rotten piece of filth”.

Me;
 I don’t have a name to introduce myself  to you but my mommy call me sweetie. This is my story, I don’t know whether it can be called as a story. But believe me my mommy used to tell me her stories. She used to tell me “sweetie, everyone has their own story”. Her stories are full of hatred  and pain. She said to me once that she don’t want me to replace her” as my Mommy was an illegitimate child; people call them Bastard. She told me that her mother (My grandmother, I haven’t seen her though) was a prostitute. I don’t even know what it means. But mommy told me its sin. That was how my mommy was born as a bastard. Her classmates used to call her “dog” not because it is an animal but because dogs are bastards and dogs are like prostitutes. I did not understand the last part.

    Most of the stories would have things I don’t understand. She told me once that when she was 14, she was raped brutally by a middle aged man who was introduced to her by her mother.She said it was the most painful thing a girl could have both physically and mentally. She was harassed by her mother for more than 6 years and then I was born in my mommy’s womb. She said she don’t want me to be called as a “Dog” like her. She don’t want me to be raped by some dogs as well. She want me to be safe and happy.She told me I will be very safe in this place and she will come back to me very soon.

       I miss her a lot now. Though I don’t remember her face, I remember her sound. I know she would be very beautiful like the angel who brought me here. My Mommy's voice is very sweet, I would say a perfect voice for a perfect story teller but she used to cry often while telling stories. I would better say “we both cry together, My Mommy cry telling the story, I; hearing her cries.
      Today is the day she promised that she would come back to me. I am so much excited to see her. From today I could ask questions when she tells me stories unlike before.
Even though my mommy says “Everybody has their own story”,  I am not sure whether it was my story or can it be called as a story. May be my story starts today, maybe I don’t have a story.