Jody and the rattlesnake

Jody's eyes choke with grey tears and I long to kill the bastard.
Her little hands clasp the steering wheel of her green car, green le
coleur d'espoir. Her wrists tremble,so fragile, they will snap if I
touch her. I want to touch her. I want to kiss her tears, stroke her
ebony hair, and pull her frail shoulders towards me. I am her mother,
the one she never had, and now as she cries, I can feel her pain in my
womb. You will never know the true meaning of misery until you see Jody
cry. Her green eyes, larger than life, spill a sea of salt, mascara
swimming down her ivory skin. Her lower lip trembles, her chin sticks
out as she asks me if this is God's way of punishing her. I long to
take over, drive to his house and spit in his face. "Look at what
you've done!", I want to shout.
But it's already twelve, too late to save her. I wish I could pull her
out of the hole, but her heart is heavier than I can carry.
I pull her to me and kiss her hair, and she shivers.
Once she was so full of life, so vibrant. I had longed to stick to her
throat like a leech and drink in her energy, to sit on her shoulders
and see the world through her grey eyes, to walk like she does in that
funny little way of hers. We yelled ourselves hoarse to Tori on Cairo's
highways in her green car, green le coleur d'espoir. I had wanted to
reach out and embrace the world with her ivory fingers that tremble now
like raindrops on the steering wheel.
Now she shakes broken, her little pieces swimming down her cheeks and I
long to kill the bastard.
No one.
No one on this planet deserves to be cried over the way Jody did for
Sam.