Post by Mael Leblanc on Apr 13, 2010 18:20:35 GMT -5
I remember my last night as one of the sighted. It is as clear to me as if it had just happened a moment ago. It is a memory I would gladly excise from my mind, and yet, such things are not so simple. It was the night my childhood curled up and died, taking my mother with it, and from its corpse, a man was born—a premature man, something which was never meant to be, but necessity births strange monsters.
I remember how, in those days, her smile was the sun that brightened my world, and she smiled often when I was around, saying how I had my father’s hair, and wouldn’t he be so proud when he returned to the estate, as he had said he would? I could have cared less. This man she called my “father” was less real to me, a distant presence, and I had little knowledge of the particular doings of men and women which resulted in children.
It was one other thing I had to learn.
What was I doing that night, just prior to the attack? Perhaps, more charitable types will imagine that I was saying my prayers before bedtime, trying to cast me in a more saintly light. Actually, ‘twas not my bedtime, and I was amusing myself with a wooden menagerie, making the little cat chase the little mouse all around the room. The little cat, to my knowledge, never caught the little mouse, who was adept at scurrying into little nooks that the cat could not reach, and besides, the little cat was eaten by the little wolf before it so much as scratched the little mouse with its claws.
The first sign I received that something was amiss was a muffled thump which caused the little statuette of Eisheth that my mother had given me to shudder. She was small enough to fit in a pocket, and far more detailed than any of the animals. Such images, I was later told, were often given to women who wished to bear children, and I wondered if my mother had kept this very one close to her while I was growing in her womb.
I plucked the goddess from her place and pocketed her just before I heard my mother scream. I had never heard such a sound before, and I do not think I would have been surprised if the walls themselves had cracked from the force of it. It was not a sound that portended anything pleasant, that much I knew almost instinctively.
I should have listened to my instincts and ran in the opposite direction. Instead, I went to discover what it was that provoked such a horrible sound. I imagined that perhaps I could comfort my mother in some way.
I do not know what I expected to find, but certainly not the sight of a man sweating and gasping over my mother’s prone form. I was just a child, I couldn’t understand the ramifications of the act, I only knew that something about it felt wrong. I learned the proper word later: rape, a crime and a heretical act.
“M-Mother?” I wonder if my mother despaired the moment she heard my voice. She was always so vigilant, always there to gently steer me out of harm’s way.
I watched as her body contorted, neck twisting at an unnatural angle until her eyes stared into mine, her lips forming a single phrase:
“Mael, RUN!”
I tore my eyes away from that strange sight and ran like a frightened deer, but it wasn’t long before the hunters caught up to me. I screamed as I was seized roughly by black-gloved hands and thrown over someone’s shoulder like a sack of turnips. I beat at their shoulder blades with a savage fury, but the hard leather refused to give way to my fists.
“Look at what I’ve found!” My captor announced, and I cried out as I was unceremoniously dumped on the floor.
“So the whore has get, does she?” The man who had spoken this had greasy black hair and a savage glint in his eyes. “Let him see what happens when a bitch tries to pretend that she’s a wolf…”
They made me watch it all, every violation. I heard my mother scream, but worst of all, I heard my mother beg, not for her own life, but for mine, and they laughed at her, these demons in the skin of men. The worst of those screams came when one of the men, maddened by his own lust, tore at her core, holding up the small, bloody nub of flesh like a trophy. I wished I’d understood what it meant, at the time, but all I knew was that my mother was in pain and I could do nothing to stop it. My limbs might as well have been shackled to the floor.
How long did her torment last? Perhaps mere minutes, perhaps hours, I only remember when she turned to me, face streaked with sweat tears and seed, hair disheveled as if she had torn it in grief, and I remember that she smiled, even in the midst of such brutality, and she said the last words that ever escaped her lips:
“Mael, I love you, boy. Don’t be afraid…”
Someone said, “Silence the whore,” and then another man reached out and painted a red line along her throat with a dagger, and then it was my turn to scream. I screamed, I cried, I thrashed against the hands that held me in their iron grips.
“What should we do with him, Captain?” I heard one of them ask, the same one who had captured me in the hall. I was turned abruptly, a large black form moving to block my view of my mother’s corpse.
A face came into view, the same man with greasy hair, I winced as he grasped my chin and tilted my head so that I gazed into his savage eyes.
“Leave him alive,” he said finally, “as a reminder…”
Then, without warning, he tore my right eye from its socket.
I didn’t feel the pain at first, but there was no delaying it, and suddenly it felt as if they had driven nails into my eye sockets. I squealed in pain and began to thrash, throwing my head back in an effort to retreat from that hand. I couldn’t see where he had taken my eye, but I knew it was gone.
Then he took my left eye, and all I saw, then and forever after, was darkness.
When next I became aware of my surroundings, I knew instinctively that the men were gone, and I also knew, through more corporeal means, that someone had started a fire somewhere. The scent of the smoke assaulted my nostrils. It was clear, I needed to flee, but where would I go?
Think, Mael! Think! But it was hard to think, so much pain, the memory of my mother’s ravaged corpse burned into my mind, and I didn’t want to leave her. It would have been easy, to lie there and let the fire claim me. I could have gone to be with my mother, put an end to the pain.
Don’t be afraid… My mother’s last words echoed in my mind.
I won’t be afraid, mother, I replied as I brought myself to my hands and knees and began to crawl forward. I’ll live, for you, because then no one else will know that they hurt you…
I felt it then, a cool breeze that ruffled my hair and was like a soothing balm for the pain in my eye sockets. The intruders had probably left the door open when they had entered. It was not far, that much I knew, I could escape, I could live. So I persevered, managing through sheer force of will to crawl towards the source of that breeze. The roar of the flames was louder now, and I could hear how the flames cracked and popped as they devoured our furniture.
My hand touched cool, wet grass, and I nearly fainted from relief, but there would be plenty of time to rest when I had managed to put as much distance between myself and the inferno as possible.
So I crawled, and crawled, and crawled until the sound of the inferno became faint, and only then did I permit myself to rest, having exhausted myself in more ways than one. It was fortunate too, that I had managed to continue for this long, for I fainted dead away, the last sound I heard before losing consciousness was the shouting of men in the distance…
I remember how, in those days, her smile was the sun that brightened my world, and she smiled often when I was around, saying how I had my father’s hair, and wouldn’t he be so proud when he returned to the estate, as he had said he would? I could have cared less. This man she called my “father” was less real to me, a distant presence, and I had little knowledge of the particular doings of men and women which resulted in children.
It was one other thing I had to learn.
What was I doing that night, just prior to the attack? Perhaps, more charitable types will imagine that I was saying my prayers before bedtime, trying to cast me in a more saintly light. Actually, ‘twas not my bedtime, and I was amusing myself with a wooden menagerie, making the little cat chase the little mouse all around the room. The little cat, to my knowledge, never caught the little mouse, who was adept at scurrying into little nooks that the cat could not reach, and besides, the little cat was eaten by the little wolf before it so much as scratched the little mouse with its claws.
The first sign I received that something was amiss was a muffled thump which caused the little statuette of Eisheth that my mother had given me to shudder. She was small enough to fit in a pocket, and far more detailed than any of the animals. Such images, I was later told, were often given to women who wished to bear children, and I wondered if my mother had kept this very one close to her while I was growing in her womb.
I plucked the goddess from her place and pocketed her just before I heard my mother scream. I had never heard such a sound before, and I do not think I would have been surprised if the walls themselves had cracked from the force of it. It was not a sound that portended anything pleasant, that much I knew almost instinctively.
I should have listened to my instincts and ran in the opposite direction. Instead, I went to discover what it was that provoked such a horrible sound. I imagined that perhaps I could comfort my mother in some way.
I do not know what I expected to find, but certainly not the sight of a man sweating and gasping over my mother’s prone form. I was just a child, I couldn’t understand the ramifications of the act, I only knew that something about it felt wrong. I learned the proper word later: rape, a crime and a heretical act.
“M-Mother?” I wonder if my mother despaired the moment she heard my voice. She was always so vigilant, always there to gently steer me out of harm’s way.
I watched as her body contorted, neck twisting at an unnatural angle until her eyes stared into mine, her lips forming a single phrase:
“Mael, RUN!”
I tore my eyes away from that strange sight and ran like a frightened deer, but it wasn’t long before the hunters caught up to me. I screamed as I was seized roughly by black-gloved hands and thrown over someone’s shoulder like a sack of turnips. I beat at their shoulder blades with a savage fury, but the hard leather refused to give way to my fists.
“Look at what I’ve found!” My captor announced, and I cried out as I was unceremoniously dumped on the floor.
“So the whore has get, does she?” The man who had spoken this had greasy black hair and a savage glint in his eyes. “Let him see what happens when a bitch tries to pretend that she’s a wolf…”
They made me watch it all, every violation. I heard my mother scream, but worst of all, I heard my mother beg, not for her own life, but for mine, and they laughed at her, these demons in the skin of men. The worst of those screams came when one of the men, maddened by his own lust, tore at her core, holding up the small, bloody nub of flesh like a trophy. I wished I’d understood what it meant, at the time, but all I knew was that my mother was in pain and I could do nothing to stop it. My limbs might as well have been shackled to the floor.
How long did her torment last? Perhaps mere minutes, perhaps hours, I only remember when she turned to me, face streaked with sweat tears and seed, hair disheveled as if she had torn it in grief, and I remember that she smiled, even in the midst of such brutality, and she said the last words that ever escaped her lips:
“Mael, I love you, boy. Don’t be afraid…”
Someone said, “Silence the whore,” and then another man reached out and painted a red line along her throat with a dagger, and then it was my turn to scream. I screamed, I cried, I thrashed against the hands that held me in their iron grips.
“What should we do with him, Captain?” I heard one of them ask, the same one who had captured me in the hall. I was turned abruptly, a large black form moving to block my view of my mother’s corpse.
A face came into view, the same man with greasy hair, I winced as he grasped my chin and tilted my head so that I gazed into his savage eyes.
“Leave him alive,” he said finally, “as a reminder…”
Then, without warning, he tore my right eye from its socket.
I didn’t feel the pain at first, but there was no delaying it, and suddenly it felt as if they had driven nails into my eye sockets. I squealed in pain and began to thrash, throwing my head back in an effort to retreat from that hand. I couldn’t see where he had taken my eye, but I knew it was gone.
Then he took my left eye, and all I saw, then and forever after, was darkness.
When next I became aware of my surroundings, I knew instinctively that the men were gone, and I also knew, through more corporeal means, that someone had started a fire somewhere. The scent of the smoke assaulted my nostrils. It was clear, I needed to flee, but where would I go?
Think, Mael! Think! But it was hard to think, so much pain, the memory of my mother’s ravaged corpse burned into my mind, and I didn’t want to leave her. It would have been easy, to lie there and let the fire claim me. I could have gone to be with my mother, put an end to the pain.
Don’t be afraid… My mother’s last words echoed in my mind.
I won’t be afraid, mother, I replied as I brought myself to my hands and knees and began to crawl forward. I’ll live, for you, because then no one else will know that they hurt you…
I felt it then, a cool breeze that ruffled my hair and was like a soothing balm for the pain in my eye sockets. The intruders had probably left the door open when they had entered. It was not far, that much I knew, I could escape, I could live. So I persevered, managing through sheer force of will to crawl towards the source of that breeze. The roar of the flames was louder now, and I could hear how the flames cracked and popped as they devoured our furniture.
My hand touched cool, wet grass, and I nearly fainted from relief, but there would be plenty of time to rest when I had managed to put as much distance between myself and the inferno as possible.
So I crawled, and crawled, and crawled until the sound of the inferno became faint, and only then did I permit myself to rest, having exhausted myself in more ways than one. It was fortunate too, that I had managed to continue for this long, for I fainted dead away, the last sound I heard before losing consciousness was the shouting of men in the distance…