The woods waited for her, everyday she passed the ancient sickly trunks, she felt the wind still with their bated breath. It was just another day, like all the others in her miserable life, but each Friday of the week she didn’t just pass, she entered these woods. There was nothing remarkable about Friday except the remembrance was especially poignant.
The largest limb was now bending low and scarred with the rope he used. Her fingers traced the indentation of the twisted hemp that he used to end his life. If only she knew, but there was nothing she could do. She was only eight years old with no strength of mind or body to prevent her father’s death.
The Bag Lady 
Wow! So sad.
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