Part 2

Part two of "My Magic Eyes"

The day when I was abandoned was a cold, winter day. A fresh new layer of snow had been laid the night before, it appeared like magic. I remember those days, where everything seemed magical and full of mystery. I remember when I thought life was good, when it was worth living. I slowly and quietly crawled out of bed careful not to wake the lump under the blanket. The wooden floor creaked as I made my way across the room, I could feel my fingers and toes grow numb in the cold. My thin nightgown hardly protected me from the winter’s cold, but it was all we could afford. When I had finally reached the kitchen I breathed a small sigh of relief, sending a small white cloud into the air, because I had managed not to wake my mother, which was a first. She could hear almost everything, from a mouse squeak to the creaking of the floorboards. It was unusual that I would even make it out of bed without waking her up too. I just thought that maybe she had been tired or she had decided to stay huddled under the warm blankets until she could work up the courage to climb out into the bitter cold.

I lit a small fire in our fireplace and started some tea. My mother always loved tea. She would hand-pick the herbs herself, spending hours out in the forest all for a cup of tea. I didn’t mind tea, it was ok. Besides what else are you going to drink in the middle of winter. Water just freezes and we had already slaughtered the goat we used for milk. We were saving all our apples for special occasions, so cider would have to wait. Wine was way too expensive; we’d have to sell our house just to get a bottle. Beer and rum were definitely a no-no. Mother wouldn’t even drink any herself. You see, my father liked to drink and rum was his favourite. Sometimes he drank too much and would end up passing out on the street; a sitting duck for thieves and murderers. It makes sense why she’d want to banish alcohol from our household.

I reached my hands and feet out towards the fire, feeling the heat gently defrosting them. I could hear and see the bubbles popping up above the surface of the water in the pot. I sat down, watching the bubbles shoot up, almost mesmerized by the moving water. I could feel my green eye tingling again, but that was almost normal by then so I just ignored it. I used to think that was normal until I told my mother and she explained that it didn’t happen to everyone. I was around five years old, but I can still see her face. Her forehead wrinkled, her mouth pursed in a thin straight line and her eyes. Her eyes. They were filled with something, something I didn’t quite get then, but I do now. It was worry. Fear that something might be terribly wrong with me, that I could be sick. I wish I hadn’t told her about that. Then she wouldn’t have had to feel that. I wish I could have saved her from that torture. As I grew up she always kept a close eye on me, always hanging over my back, always watching over me.

When the water started boiling, I grabbed one of the bags of herbs my mother kept just over the fireplace and dump it in the pot. The soft, gentle scent of the dried herbs filled the room. I took a deep breath and inhaled the smell. Though I may not have liked the tea, I loved the smell of herbs. It’s not like that fiery, burning smell of spices; it’s a calming smell that seems to gently wrap you in its embrace, leaving you in a sea of calm until it slowly fades away. I stirred the pot, chasing the small, floating bag of herbs around the pot with my wooden spoon. Once the water had turned brown to match the dried herbs I took it off the fire and poured the steaming tea into two small tea cups. They were old things. One had a small chip on its lip and the other was clearly stained by tea. Nonetheless, we always used those two cups. My mother once told me that they were a present from a close friend of hers. I placed the two cups and their saucers on a hand-carved, wooden tray and walked down the hall towards the bedroom.

As soon as I entered the room I knew something was wrong. My brown eye saw the whole room in a bright, blood red and it started to sting something terrible, as if someone was sticking pins in it. “Mama.” I called out towards the lump on the bed. “Mama, I’ve made some tea. Don’t you want your tea, mother? Mother?” I slowly walked around the bed towards the lump. I reached out and shook her shoulder. “Mama?” I shook her harder, but I still got no answer. I quickly peeled the blanket off to find my mother curled up in a small ball on the bed. I reached out to shake her once more and found her skin to be as cold as the winter’s snow. The tray slipped out of my fingers and crashed to the floor, the hot tea spilling everywhere. I felt some of the tiny droplets hit my skin, burning it slightly. I knelt over her body and hugged her, my hot tears running down my checks. I screamed her name over and over again, and I felt my heart break in two.

I don’t know for how long I held her in my arms; screaming and crying the whole time. I woke up lying across the bed, my mother lying right beside me. I rubbed my red swollen, tear-shot eyes and sat up. I tried not to look at my mother as I crawled out of bed. I walked out of the room and towards the front door. I grabbed my forest-green cloak from the coat hanger and slipped on my small, soft leather shoes. I looked back towards the bedroom then slowly opened the creaking door and walked out into the cold winter day.

Author's Note

Once again I ask that your forgive any grammatical or spelling errors that i may have over looked. As usual I'd love some feedback, so feel free! ;)

Reviews

[Sean M. Addams]

Didn't really notice any major grammar issues but thought you did well on the storyline a very creative piece... nice work.