The Dark Obelisk - Chapter Four

Slip back into the arms of comfort, and feel the warmth of love once again. But you know, Zero. You know deep down in your heart that some things, once they are lost, can never ever be brought back.

Sleep had come pretty easily, just like the last several times. The moment I'd hit the bed I was pretty much out, but quickly before I knew it I felt myself being stirred.

My eyes fluttered open as gentle hands placed upon my body shook me awake. Bright light blinded me as my sight adjusted, my arm draped across my forehead.

"Jeeze dad, can you turn the torches down?" I asked with mild humor.

"Dad? Oh honey, I'm not -that- ugly, am I?"

That voice.

A quiet chuckle before I felt tender lips press softly against my cheek.

"Come on now. Get up, get dressed. It's time for dinner."

As she turned and left the room, I saw the back of her. I saw the whole of her. Gentle tones of grey furr...almost a behemoth at a height of 6'6, she could have passed for amazonian. But she was too gentle for that. Her left eye, dark sapphire blue, just like mine. Her right eye, colored grey, useless. She'd been blinded out of it for as long as she could remember. Her clothing had always been so elaborate. She wore dresses that had a very Native American vibe to them, with various red and black colored patterns representing symbols and animals upon light-tan cloth. Red shoulders decorated with red feathers. She wore a lot of jewelry too, from crystalline gemstone pieces attached to the ends of her moderately long, braided snow-white hair, to a golden necklace with a circle design that had an emerald situated in the middle of it, and mores gems and jewelry embedded into her clothes. They sparkled and glittered whenever she walked through sunlight...it was a mixture of those qualities that had always made her seem so majestic, and to those outside the family, mysterious.

It was those mixture of qualities which made my mother.

I remembered how she could stare with such intensity. If I'd ever done something bad, something I know I shouldn'tve, she'd come to me and she'd just stare. Words were never needed, that gaze alone told me everything. Told me that I had done wrong, told me I had disappointed and disobeyed her. She'd never struck me, never raised her voice, never even grounded me. It was always that look, and until I apologized for what I'd done, until I realized the error of my ways, she wouldn't speak to me. Any significant time without my mother's voice was enough. I'd repent to her, I'd apologize, usually in tears. And she would smile, that soft, gentle smile. She'd take me into her arms, hug me in a way that only a mother knew how to.  And she would tell me it was okay. That she forgave me. She'd tell me how much she loved me, each and every time, and how proud she was that I'd fessed up to what I had done. That I was honest and good.

My whole body shook, my breath was catched and quick. I felt sweat bead upon my forehead. I had to get up. I had to go see...I had to see her.

Shakily I passed my feet over the edge of the bed...and saw that it was -my- bed, from long ago. A bed shaped to look like a race car, in a room painted sky blue.

-My- room.

I gazed upon the fixtures that surrounded me, from the fat, tall two-layered brown bookcase in one corner to the little studying desk a few feet from it, with a small reading lamp perched atop it and a globe. An Animorphs book sat under the lamp, closed with a bookmark jutting out at the halfway mark. To the right of me, the door to my closet. I'd placed silly little stickers all over the door, of various cartoons and things.  Just to the left of the closet sat a big blue plastic tub of sorts.

I slowly got to my feet as I pushed away from the bed and wobbled unsteadily towards that tub. I peered within and saw that it had been filled with stuffed animals...there was a Garfield in there, an otie too, some various purple dogs and green kitties. A lot of them I'd remembered getting from winning games at fairs. It was surprising to think that'd we ever had time for things like that with how long we had to spend running. But that was part of what had made this family so wonderful...no matter what, we'd be together, and we'd be happy.

My father's voice called out, "Hurry up, kiddo! Food's getting cold!" You'd have never wanted to get between him and dinner. He could be ravenous about food, at times. My mom had always said he could eat like a whole ten courses and be asking for more. An exaggeration, of course, but I couldn't help to imagine the possibility, with the way he did eat.

"Yeah! Come onnnnnnnn!" Khaze. Appetite second only to my father's, more than once she'd been admonished for nibbling before everyone was set. On a few occasions, she'd gotten so fed up with waiting that she'd grabbed her food and ran around the house eating it as dad chased her. He'd inevitably catch up to her, taking her down in a big tickle attack that'd have both laughter and food going everywhere. Then my mother'd come to drag my father off by the ear and before you knew it, he'd be grumbling away elbow-deep in dishes while Khaze was whining about having to sweep up the mess she'd made. I'd gotten a lot of laughs out of that, though I didn't laugh in front of mom, else I'd be right next to dad, with dishes up to my ears (mostly because of how short I was).

Laughter. Amongst everything we'd had to go through, there was always a lot of laughter. The strength had come through our parents. Both of them had always done everything in their power that they could to keep the darkness out of I and my sisters lives. Though we moved a lot, though there had been close calls, it was their strength that kept us happy, kept us alive.

I blinked as I realized I could no longer see straight, vision completely blurred and the carpet below me quickly becoming stained with the droplets that rolled off my cheeks. It was at that moment that my mother returned to the room.

"Honey, what's tak---" She stopped mid-sentence as she saw me. Whatever she was going to say no longer mattered to her, and dinner became a very secondary concern as she quickly came to me, and knelt down beside. I turned to meet her gaze. The eyes which could force apologies out with their intensity now drew me in with their deep warmth. "What's wrong?" She whispered.

I trembled. I couldn't speak.

"What's wrong?" She whispered again. Her fingers slid through my cheeks, palms rested warmly against my face. She rubbed softly, continued to gaze into my eyes. Though one of her own no longer functioned, she saw into me with a clarity far and beyond what two would provide.

No words were spoken, as she drew me forward into her arms and held me close. The warmth of her body spread into me. A soft, flowery scent filled my lungs. The presence of my mother, lost for so long, returned to my life.

My dad had whined again but my mother had silenced him with a sharp call of "Damien!". She'd never called him by his middle name unless she meant business, and I'd almost thought I'd heard him squeak in terror. Her full attention returned to me, and for awhile, no more words were spoken. I stayed with her, within her warmth, and she provided it to me. I would not have minded staying there forever. No place could make me feel as safe as this.

"Do you want me to come in and eat with you, sweetheart?" She spoke softly, caressing my cheeks and rubbing her nose against mine.

I inhaled deeply, caught my sobs, and got my words out. "N-n-n-no...I...I want to go eat..." It'd had been my greatest wish to be with my family again. I'd never pass that up.

My mother waited as I got dressed. When I was finished, she took me by the hand and lead me down the hallway, around the corner of which lead right into the dining room. I saw my father first, at the head of the table. He looked grumpy, his long hair parted to each side so that his face wasn't obscured, and mumbled something, but when he saw me, his ears flattened. With a glance towards my mother, I think he understood the nature of the situation, and his grumpy demeanor became friendly, as a soft smile spread across his features.

"Hey, bud. I hope you're hungry, there's a lot of food here!" He smiled and pointed to the table, across which were laid a few serving plates of chicken, corn, potatoes, as well as some gravy and two kinds of pie. It wasn't any particular holiday, but our family liked to eat well. When I got older and reflected upon it, I understood that it was more of the effort put forth to keep things happy, normal.

"It's about time! I'M HUNGRY! D:< " Khaze cried indignantly. Short, stubby, very pink, she'd looked a bit chubby when she was young. It'd have been a few years before she really grew into her features. My mother shooshed her and pointed directly at her, shaking her head warningly. Khaze seemed to protest. "But he took foreevve---"

"Hush, now." My mother spoke, and it seemed my sister's resolve had been defeated. She "hhmmph'ed" and crossed her arms while she poked her tongue out at me.

I giggled.

I laughed.

Before I knew it, I had fallen upon the floor, paws clutched against my stomach as I laughed, and laughed...tears streaked my face but I laughed. How could I not have? My grouchy dad, my stumpy, feisty little sister. It was funny. Humorous. It was...

My family.

After my sister spent some more time complaining and my father spoke in an obviously-loud whisper about how that boy'd lost his marbles, I'd finally managed to compose myself and dinner commenced. Dad gave me the stink eye as he came past with a cold plate of food en route to the microwave, but ruffled my hair and smiled on his way back. Such travesties were quickly forgiven once the food was warm again.

We shared dinner together. I took the biggest plate I could find and heaped as much food upon it as I could managed. I doused the chicken and potatoes in gravy, mom poured each of us some orange juice. Knife and fork in my paws, I tore into my food, marveled at how good it tasted, how good I felt.

There was much enjoyed conversation. My mother laid out some ideas she had for putting together a mobile garden whilst my sister asked her all about the kinds of flowers that might've been in it and how she could help. My father engaged me in a conversation about my school and training. I was home schooled, of course, and we brainstormed on interesting ways to integrate my studies into activity. I'd never been one much for books (the technical sort � I loved reading for pleasure) and he wanted to make things more enjoyable.

There was laughter to be had, jokes to be made. Mom once again pointed out Dad's rather unsavory eating habits, to which he responded by snorting like a pig and stuffing his face into his pie. Mom just rolled her eyes and sighed as she looked at her children.

"Do you see what I deal with over there? Don't you -dare- grow up like him." She directed it at me, but I and Khaze were too busy laughing uproariously to listen. My dad was in on the giggle fest, and before long, so was my mom. Everyone was laughing. Everyone was happy.

Everyone was alive.

Author's Note

Comments always welcome. Please disregard typos.