Chapter 34
Thorn
Wounded Wings
“Son, listen to me,” mama holds me in her arms, rocking us on her knees. Her tears wet my arm as her frantic breath blows past my ear. Papa stands in the shadows, peering out into the dark. The wind blows, rustling the leaves and twigs. The sky is dark, starless and promising. During daylight the forest isn’t as blood curdling, not when mama and I throw rocks right by the pond or when papa takes me hunting.
She was shaking and so was I. Ever since I watched Iris slit grandfather’s neck with such an eerie wickedness, my throat had remained dry as my heart beat so hard, it felt like it was tearing out of my chest. We had run until our feet hurt, but if only I knew it was in vain.
“No matter what you see nor hear, you’re to stay hidden.” She looks up at me, brushing the hair that had stuck to my sweaty forehead. Her eyes are filled with so many tears, not the good kind, not the ones she sheds when papa brings her flowers or when I read a poem I wrote for her. No, these tears make me hurt because she is hurting.
The wind picks up, blowing her golden locks. “You’re loved beyond this world, my boy, and whenever you need us,” she places her palm on my chest, “just look at the stars, because we will be looking right down at you.” My hand reaches for her face, wiping her tears as she wipes my own. This is goodbye. It feels like the last I will see of her eyes, hear her voice, or feel her hugs.
“Don’t leave me mama,” I beg.
My mind isn’t like other kids, nor is my heart. But this is my mother, and that is my father, and I know I love them. It might not be the type of love you read in books, but it’s my version of love nonetheless, and they know it.
“I’ll never leave you,” she sobs louder and squeezes me in her arms. “Not when I carry you with me and you, I.”
My chest feels tight and I can almost feel my heart breaking. The pieces falling to my feet.
“They’re coming.” My father closes the distance between us, sinking to his knees and pulling Mama and I into his arms. The things that crawl in the woods hoot and creep, but we stand there, holding one another until crunching stones and voices sound.
“You’re a blessing, my blessing, and to the ends of the world my love for you will never die son, never.” His voice sounds defeated, wronged, and sorrowful.
Grandfather is nothing like him, where he believed a lack of emotion ruled a kingdom. My father spent his days in the garden, growing roses for mama and cherishing the cracks in me.
“Go, go hide now!” he stands, wiping away his tears. He always said tears aren’t weakness, but a show of pure bravery. Mama ushers me down the small hill leading to the stream. “Don’t you come out, promise me.”
“I promise.” I walk over the stony path and hide behind a large rock. Silvery currents winding over stones as the moon shines through the trees. I can’t see much other than the glow of a candle that gets closer as papa steps forward.
The night is a blur, but the screams haunt me loudly, like a never-ending nightmare. Mama begged Iris to unhand her, for her man not to touch her, and while papa fought, he lost a battle he was never to win.
Her laughter rang out for days, for years, and it shall for eternity. And so did the sound of my father, choking on his blood, his cries, and his silence when his body was pushed down the hill and landed at my feet. Stabbed, bruised, and blooded.
Rain, however, followed shortly, washing away their deaths. At fifteen, I dragged my parent’s bodies and buried them behind the house that was once a home. Scared, alone and hurting, I lay my mother and father to rest.
I was different then, but I was loved. And when the only people who taught me to smile were killed mercilessly, I died too.