Mothers of Men

A Story by Michael

Mothers of Men

Abel stood naked on a sheet of hard frozen rock. He focused his grip on a frozen split of wood, frigid hands trembling with its weight, dancing for heat sporadically. He looked at them with shame and forced them to be calm. He moved slowly from the rock, becoming light as the wind, and bounded upwards to the peak of the hard frozen shelf over looking a frosted valley. His movements were cold and painful. He felt comfort knowing his brother would be feeling the same. Their mothers had cut from them all of their hair and stripped them of all belongs. A test of endurance.

They gave Abel the spear exclusively.

He looked up and smelt the air. Scanned the valley opposite himself with deep dark eyes. They burned all at once with fire and he chased downward silently after the smell of smoke. He laughed at the beacon of weakness. He moved swiftly leaving no tracks or scent, as his fathers had instructed, bounding over frozen rocks and dead growth. His stomach had been growling the past three days, but for the first time it could be heard no longer. He could not however shake the cold. They were both cold.

Only one of them was foolish. Only one of them listened to their mind.

Abel did not let his mind control his body. His brawn would contribute to his family, that was all that would ever be needed. He would bring his Mothers and Fathers honor and security as they had him. He would be a man soon and the burning in his heart seemed to melt the snow away. His brother was weak and a coward, to give himself up by creating such a comfort was a disgusting spectacle. Abel had always known he was more worthy, and the thought of himself moving in to abolish any doubt was pure ecstasy.

He made it to the orange dancing wood, and stalked the perimeter, scanning slowly the soft

ground by the fire. He found not the coward but it's tracks leading into a dead stretch of woods. He noticed his familiar scent not caring of another unfamiliar aroma that presented itself, deer he thought, unimportant. He cared only about his task, any other thought was irrelevant.

Down the trail he triumphantly walked, head raised and chest out. He continued mouth salivating growing more intense when the tracks ended.

He almost felt remorse, when he came across the hunched body, squatting sadly on an old fallen log. His brother was in fur, another repulsive sign of his weakness. He would put an end to such an embarrassment, just as his mothers said he would, that he must. Remorse faded, replaced by a hateful self-satisfied smile, as he struck the mound with the sharp point of a spear. A dark syrup poured from the animal. It was not fresh.

Time slowed, braking to a complete stop as Abel tried to comprehend, then suddenly it exploded moving much faster as if to make up for its sudden stop. The first strike caught Abel by surprise throwing his rigid unaware body misseribly to the frozen sheets of hard rock. The world around him spun and doubled. A second strike created a loud crack. The rock was sharp and jagged and it smeared Abel's skin across his shattered temporal. There was a third crack, followed by a fourth and finally a fifth. Abel looked around wide eyed to see nothing. He wished to speak but his mouth had closed too fast, his teeth had clenched too hard unexpectingly. He had swallowed what was left of his tongue. As his mouth filled and poured, his eyes grew heavy, capturing the blurred outline of his brother before they closed.

It was the outline of a man.