Inspiration Monday again! It’s become my favorite night of the week, these Monday nights.
BeKindRewrite thanks for the wonderful prompts.
The scientist was simply the sort of man who did not laugh. Few words ever left his mouth beside lab instructions, and even those he usually wrote down instead. He rarely, if ever, left his lab. Even to eat–if he became hungry enough that he couldn’t work–he would simply order food for delivery and continue working. After he fell asleep during an important experiment a cot was ordered for his lab. This helped him, occasionally he would get a couple of hours sleep.
Then one day, the scientist suddenly stopped work and stepped back. “It’s finished!” He exclaimed. And the scientist laughed. Then he collapsed, finished with his life’s work, what had he left to live for? But in that last minute before he died, the scientist laughed.
The Girl With the Teardrop Tattoo
Isabelle Myra James, the girl with the teardrop tattoo. It was her scarlet letter, the blacklisting feature she had that would last beyond her currently swollen belly. It wasn’t a badly done tattoo, in fact it was done very nicely, but between both her pregnancy and the tattoo beside her right eye, there were very few places that Isabelle fit in. Very few jobs, very few foster homes, and no one to turn to.
So for Isa there was really no other option but to give the baby up or have an abortion. Her first choice had been an abortion, she’d nearly gone through with it, but somehow, sitting in that clinic, she couldn’t bring herself to sign off her baby’s life. How could she when sixteen years ago her mother had chosen not to do the same to her? So the girl with the teardrop tattoo left the clinic still pregnant and went instead to an adoption agency.
The child was born 5 months later, July 1, 2008, and the girl with the teardrop tattoo handed her newborn daughter to the couple she’d chosen to give her baby to. And for the last time, Isa let her tears escape.
A week later, she called the family and asked them the name of her daughter. They told her they had named the girl Lyla Isabelle. The next day she had a teardrop tattooed on her hip. In it she wrote the baby’s name and birthday, a permanent reminder of the last time she would ever cry.