I didn’t like this place. I couldn’t stand the putrid stench of it; musty and dank, like the rotted, moldy stench that comes from a swamp, or if you had stuck your nose into the fur of a wet, mangy dog.
I was sitting down on the stiff floorboards of the cabin, kneeling next to a grubby windowsill. It was dirty and caked with mud near the edges. I watched heavy wet droplets pelt the glass windowpane, and listened to the sound of rain pattering the collapsing, deteriorating roof.
A loud noise erupted from behind me; my baby had begun bawling. I turned away from the windowsill and obediently went to him. He lay in the center of the room, wrapped up tightly in the blanket I had made for him.
“Aaaaah. Bwaaaaa!” he cried.
I brought him up to my chest and rocked him gently.
“Rraaaaaa! Bwaaa,” he insisted, scrunching his teeny black eyes.
“Shhhh.”
“Gaaara. Yaa.”
“Shhh, baby.” I consoled.
“Eee. Kin. Ya!”
I stopped rocking. My eyes went wide and I gaped at my baby boy in surprise. I was so proud…that his first words were my name. My eyes teared up with joyful pride.
“That’s right,” I whispered, stroking my fingers through his short, lush black hair, “I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”
His wailing ceased to small cries, and after another few minutes of rocking, he drifted off to sleep. Without waking him, I glided my fingers gently over the soft skin of his face, his plump, healthy cheeks, his smooth brow. It was perplexing; amazing that I helped to create something so perfect, so chaste.
Just gazing at his peaceful countenance made me feel more relaxed, like everything would be alright. I paced around the room slowly, carrying him in my arms. I knew these feeling were false, though; we still had a long way to go before we would be out of harm’s way.
Perpetual rain hammered the sides of the cottage. I knew that somewhere out there, the Invaders were lurking about. I also knew that if they came this way, they would check the cabin for inhabitants. But we had no choice. For now, we were trapped inside this safe haven; at least until the rain let up. I couldn’t risk my baby’s health in the cold, wet conditions outside. The woods were uninhabited by our kind, and this region was foreign to me. It wouldn’t be wise to run blindly into the forest, in the midst of such a hazardous storm.
I strode over to the windowpane again, and calculated the murky gray sky. There was no relief in sight from the rain that I could see. I frowned.
I spent another half hour pacing, listening to the rhythmic pitter pat of water hitting the roof. Despite how much I hated being confined to this place, I was extremely grateful for this ramshackle refuge.
I kept checking the window, partly to monitor the weather, partly to keep an eye out for Invaders, but mostly to keep myself busy and awake. I hadn’t slept for a day and a half; being on the run I hadn’t had much time at all to sleep. Especially since I had a baby to take care of.
I watched him for a few short moments; studying his slow, steady breathing, and smiled. I wondered what kind of dreams he was having.
It all happened so suddenly. The door to the shack was flung off its hinges with a loud crack as it was kicked in from the outside.
“They’re in here!” a vociferous man yelled.
One shot.
One second. One moment that felt like an eternity. One split second in time, that created the nightmare I would experience for the rest of my life.
I let loose an unearthly shriek. The sound ripped it’s way through my throat. It came from somewhere deep within, from a fire that existed only in the most savage part of me.
The bullet had missed my chest. It was lodged in my baby’s skull.
I was unable to operate on my own. My emotions took control of my body and acted out in blind rage. I unsheathed the blades that I kept tied on my upper thigh, and charged at the murderer. With my natural speed and swiftness, I had his throat cut out before he could move from the spot. There were four others that were part of the search party. I lunged at them in attack, and they were dead before they even had time to strike. I fought with one hand, while the other clutched my son’s bleeding corpse to my chest.
Once all the men were dead, I stopped flailing my weapon about and stood still as a Tuponil tree, my feet firmly rooted to the earth, my back straight and rigid. I was panting, breathing in hard, but it still felt like all air had left my body. Tears came flooding out of my eyes as swiftly as the crimson human blood dripped off my knives. I felt completely numb; except for my chest, which felt unbearably tight and constricted. Like all the air had been squeezed out of my lungs and all my organs had been tied up and knotted together.
I stared with disbelief at the bundle I held tightly in my arms. It was bloodied. Deep violet fluid oozed out of my infant’s cracked skull and seeped into the soft woolen fabric. I didn’t understand any of it. Just a few seconds ago, he was breathing, alive and healthy. We were safe. We had almost made it to Wan-joh. I promised him we would make it.
I was tempted to unravel the bit of fabric that laid across his head. I brought my lithe, trembling fingers up to the corner of the blanket and gently tugged it away from his face. I began to see the fleshy purple gash on his skull, surging gushes of blood, and then my vision went blurry and I began weeping uncontrollably.
I rocked his body gently, supporting his small back with my arms and weaving my fingers through his soft tufts of black hair. I don’t know how long I stayed like this. Hours, maybe. It was nearly dark when I forced myself to stop.
I carried him over to a nearby tree and set him down gently. Wordlessly, I used the hilt of my knife to dig a hole in the damp earth. When I finished, I took a step back and paused to contemplate the sepulcher, tilting my head to one side. This was the kind of grave you would use to bury a dearly loved pet; small, shallow, close to the surface. No tombstone, no coffin, no urn. Just a hole in the ground to cover up the corpse. This was a burial I would use for animals. Not my son.
I carefully took his body up in my arms, and knelt down next to the hole. Then, gently, I lay his cadaver down into the soil.
When all was finished, it took a momentous amount of effort to turn my back on his grave and walk away. A part of me still didn’t believe he was dead. It still felt like he could wake up at any second and cry out for me to feed him. It felt like I was abandoning him somehow, like I was leaving him to his death.
But a stronger part of me moved on, away from the past, away from the pain. Away from what could no longer be helped. I left a small part of me behind, though, to stay with my baby. That day, a part of me died, with him.
I fixed all the errors you pointed out. I didn't know how else to make that one part any less 'out of the blue'. I've been a bit stumped on trying to weave in his entrance.
