Mary Jane

A Story by Daniel

This is a story I wrote inspired by the writings of Edgar Alan Poe.

The winter wind whistled across my wide windshield. Mary Jane- the thought enticed my mind’s eye to follow it. How could that woman do that to my dear Mary Jane? Were there no bounds to the evil she unendingly unleashed? Why? Why my dear, dear Mary Jane? Why her?

No, No, No I thought. The past is in the past. Yet the tears trailed down my face. My beautiful Mary Jane. Wherever she was, my sweet Mary Jane. Gone.

No, No, No. You must move forward. Mary Jane would want it to be that way. You must follow this familiar path. Follow the plan. Follow the plan that had costed me my dear Mary Jane. Why oh why my sweet, little Mary Jane.

No, No, No, but what that woman did. What she did to you Mary Jane. How can I forgive her? How could she have done those terrible things? Because of her- because of her I’ve lost my little Mary Jane. Oh all things good and evil, my Mary Jane. My Mary Jane, where have you gone.

No, No, No. The trees towered around the small clearing. The clearing where my Mary Jane lay. Where she lay forevermore. Covered now by a blanket of snow. I sat beside her. She shall never return. All because of that terrible woman. How did she sleep at night? How could she sleep knowing what she did? What she did to my Mary Jane.

No, No, No, my Mary Jane, cursed to be forever small. Never will she grow up. That time taken from her by the woman- that evil woman. How could she have done it? Oh why, oh why, my dear Mary Jane. Why you?

No, No, No. She is gone now. No one can do anything. What is done is done. But why? Why did my Mary Jane have to suffer? All because of that woman. The woman who ruined my life. The woman who took Mary Jane’s. That horrible woman.

No, No, No. But time ticks on. The sand still sifts down the sides of the glass. The sun still rises and sets. Rises and sets over Mary Jane’s grave. The small grave. The grave made for a baby. For my baby. For Mary Jane.

No, No, No. That wicked woman. That wicked woman who wrecked my soul. Who stole my Mary Jane from me.

No, No, No. Mary Jane, it wasn’t supposed to be you. It couldn’t have been you. It shouldn’t have been you, but it was, and for that I grieve. I grieve for you. I wish you back with me. But yet, it is not to be.

No, No, No. I with you, and you with me. What we wish- what I wish. I shall remain alone. Wishing for you. Longing for you. For you and your life, a life stolen.

No, No, No. Mary Jane. Never to see the world, only to see the womb. Never to experience life. Dead before she lived. My darling daughter, my Mary Jane. All because of that woman- the woman I had once loved. The woman who killed my Mary Jane. The woman I call my wife.