Amisha's Trial

She waits for her son, for ten days, for a thousand moments of trial.

Black howls tore through the night. Amisha stood at the window, waiting for her son to her return to her arms. Ten nights he had been gone, each moment, more fearful than the last. Ten nights, the sounds of fierce battle thundering through the sky. Ten nights, but a thousand moments of trial.

Exhaustion wracked through her body. Amisha was ready to quell the flames that burned outside, in wait for her son. There was no point of it if he was not coming home, was there? But after tenuous moments, praying and pleading with the gods, she decided to wait one more night, lest the gods showed mercy on her son.

“Ammi?” a small voice, barely audible, wafted through the air.

Amisha turned from her window, started. Her daughter, the second joy of her house, gingerly stood at the door to her room, concern sprawled onto her delicate face. Amisha opened her arms, beckoning to her daughter to come sit, to talk, to laugh with her. But Jhansa, the jewel of her flower, the fire of her heart, stood hesitant, trebling.

Amisha took a small step towards Jhansa. Her daughter still stood, looking as if everything around her was new, as if the gods had taken their favor from her. “Oh, dear heart, what is on your mind?”

The girl hesitated for a single moment more. “Ammi…” her morose tone echoed in Amisha’s ear. “Brother…” She looked around, and slapped the air in front of her, to ward against evil spirits. “Brother is returned.”

Amisha’s heart flew. But Jhansa was not done.

“He’s hurt Ammi, hurt.” She laughed, a sardonic film over her normally angelic laughter.

Stunned, Amisha ran to her daughter, grabbing her harshly by the shoulders. “Him? How is he hurt? He is a healer, for the love of the gods!”

Jhansa took a small step back from her mother. Her dear mother, so loving and so happy, now looking as if a jinn had taken her body. “He wishes to speak with you, Ammi,” she said in a soft voice.

Amisha pushed her daughter to the side and ran to her son’s room. Surely, it wasn’t that bad. And surely, he had gotten what he had gone for in the first place.

But she stopped dead when she saw her son. Blood flowed from his forehead, pooling onto the crevice of his neck. His arms were bruised and gashed, some cut shallow, some so deep one could see the muscle inside. His legs were mangled and didn’t fall in the right position. Instead of parallel lines, they were twisted, angry knots. And his breathing was shallow, and came in rapid gasps.

Her only look at her son became her last, as dizziness over came her. Someone shouted something, but her mind was falling. She knew nothing but her son.

And her world went black.

Author's Note

I wrote this for WordPower based off an image the teacher gave us. Kinda stupid, yeah, I know.
No, I'm never going to write more in this story, since it was 'blah' to begin with in the first place. Hmmm...