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Page name: Forsaken [Exported view] [RSS]
2006-02-23 17:14:56
Last author: Linderel
Owner: Linderel
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Forsaken







Piping up from beside her, a tiny voice broke through the haze enveloping Joanna's mind.

"Mum... mum. Me 'n Jamie, we..."

Long, painful fit of coughing. Deep sighing breaths that formed little puffs in the air.

"We're hungry, mum."

Finally, she raised her head, stretching her neck backwards until she could see the small, frosty window high up in the ceiling. Then she took her eyes to the little girl standing before her and smiled weakly.

"Me too, hon," weary words, nearly inaudible but still full of gentle comfort. She adjusted the tiny body resting on her skinny arms, flexing strained muscles threatening to cramp. A trembling sigh. "Me too."

Lapse into silence, the little girl curling up on the floor to rest her head on her mother's still warm lap. Joanna's hand on her forehead was soft and coarse at the same time, an anchor.

A piercing wail echoed off the cold stone wall. Frightened, the little girl covered her ears as Joanna rushed to the back of the room. Her son, huddled in a corner, cried uncontrollably, staring at hands held in front of him.

Face a pure mask of horror.

"Jamie, lil' darling, wha's wrong? Jamie--- oh my God!"

Covered in blood, eyes wide and black with fright, sobs tearing their way out of a raspy throat; the image would forever stay imprinted on her mind.

Whimpering, the young mother fell on her knees, rough floor scraping bare feet, unyielding under an onslaught of tears. Joanna wept; for the baby no more than two months old yet already losing the fight. For the little girl who ran up to her and clung with all the strength she could muster, old enough to know things and petrified by it. For the boy who saw the gate to the other side and battled against the winding current, blinded by fear, controlled by the desperate will to survive.

She wept for herself, young fool become mother all too early. She wept for the fate of her lover, for the future of her land.

She wept, for after the war, all of them would be nothing more than numbers in files. Simply--

Forsaken.









Blessings of the muse


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