Eternal Rest

The miserable tale of young girl who witnesses tragedy.

I trot along the snow-covered turf, occasionally slipping on thin layers of ice. It was a cold, bitter afternoon, and I was more than relieved to finally arrive home. The creaky, wooden door swung open--nearly falling off its hinges--and I step inside. There, Papa was standing, awaiting my arrival.

"What kept you?" he asked, eyeing me suspiciously.

"There was a heap of ice. Dangerously slippery," was my answer.

He nodded, and returned to fixing a fresh cup of hot chocolate. While doing so, I set my tattered bag on the aged coffee table. Our hut was puny; there were two small bedrooms, a meager living room, a dusty kitchen, and a single bathroom. We lived among the mountains, concealed by nature. Loneliness was common here, but it was such a beautiful, serene location. And I was satisfied.

Papa handed the mug to me shakily, and sat beside me. While taking a sip, I ask, "How is Mama doing?"

My mother is drastically ill. We are unaware of the sickness, so we are unable to treat it. I suggested contacting a doctor, but Papa continuously refused. She currently lays in bed, dozing, while we can only hope some bed-rest will cure her.

"Getting better," A barefaced fib. But bugging my father wouldn't assist in any way, so I never replied, merely emptying my mug, and traveling to my cramped bedroom, where I gladly take a well-deserved nap.

When I awake, it is late afternoon; I have slept for roughly three hours. I decide to wander to my mother's bedroom, where I find her, fast asleep on her bed. I despised waking her, but Papa was out chopping some firewood, and being alone frightens me. So, I settle beside her and gently shake her awake. She appears startled.

"Mama?" My voice was timid; it was obvious I was extremely anxious.

Her eyes gradually opened, and I hear her speak my name for the first time in many weeks. It was a quiet, hoarse voice.

A smile begins to form on my face, but it quickly vanished when I notice how diseased she is. Her skin, pale as paper. Her eyes, emotionless. Her lips, chapped.

She reaches her bony hand out to me, and I grasp it firmly. I settle there for the remainder of the day, not once taking my eye off my ailing mother.

Eventually, I had to leave, abandoning my mother for the horrific night, with nothing but my worried father by her side. I found myself incapable of sleeping the slightest bit. I kept tossing in turning, shifting around in every way possible, until I plummeted off the bed and thumped onto the floor. That night was terrifying, a living nightmare at its best. Though the worst was still yet to come.

Morning slowly approached, and I lazily paced to my mother's bedroom, dreading what was sure to come my way. Papa was slumped beside Mama, silently weeping. His face was beginning to transform into a puffy-red color.

Taking a large gulp, I solemnly ask, "How is Mama?"

Dead silence.

Author's Note

Thank you so much for reading, leave any comments you have below, and feel free to skim over a few of my other works! Write on! :)

Reviews

[Lawrence Alba]

Fantastically written! A perfectly constructed yet simple plot with a a wonderful ending. Keep writing these wonderfully immersive stories!

[John F Carver]

The silence of the dead does tend to shout emotions to us doesn't it. Very nice read despite the content. I felt relief at the end just as had it been my mother there.

[Jeremiah]

Incredible. Having lost loved ones I know this feeling all too well. You captured it beautifully. I had goosebumps at the end. Keep up the good work.

[~Nina~]

Thank you!