It was a quiet day within the household of the Riveras. The halls boomed loud strikes of silence, with just the sound of the wind pushing against the rustling branches of the tree that stood right outside of the window to fill the house. Everything was calm, yet shaken... Shaken by the slow and lasting trembles that came from the mourning woman who sat upon the leather couch, with hands folded tightly that rested on her lap, staring at the cracked candle settled on a traditional dish ontop of the glass coffee table that has yet to be lit by the warmth and tenderness of fire.
The silence was broken by a faint whisper that had escaped her lips. "I could have done something...", she let out. "Why did I just-" She came to a hault to have closed, tucked trembling lips to stop herself from crying, as her eyes started to water. She took a calm, deep breath and continued, "My own blood...". She brought her eyes away from the cracked candle to her folded hands. Slowly unfolding them, she looked at the imprint of lines on her palms, slowly scanning down to her wrist where she found a blood vein visible. "A life...", she whispered once more.
Her hands started to shake as she continuously stared. Her eyes slowly widened as she began to replay the three words she previously said.
My own blood
My own blood
My own blood...
She brought herself onto her feet, off of the leather couch, still staring at her hands. The expression of her face changed to what defined the epiphany she had reached within her revolving mind.
My blood, she thought again. She put her hands down to her sides and began to slowly rotate to view all of the possessions that were kept in the house. Such precious possessions with memories, precious all the more.
"My son...!" she gasped. "They took him", she choaked as her tears were getting the best of her. "You took him!" she cried, as her hands became clenched fists. "You took one of my own!" She turned to the wall to her right and banged her left fist onto it with much force and anger. She then did it again, but this time, with her right fist, repeatingly taking turns with each fist, banging on the wall.
Her hands became tired and she slowly fell to her knees, leaning her head against the wall. Tears silently trickled down her warm, rose-colored cheeks. She rose her head up to the ceiling. "Why did you do this?" she asked. There was another cold silence within the house. "Why did you take him away from me?", she asked with more aggression. "My own son! A boy who has done nothing but followed you! A boy who has done nothing but asked for life while lying on his death bed!" she exclaimed with force and a louder, more firm voice.
She brought her hand in the air and pointed towards the ceiling. "You monsterous being, you! You TOOK LIFE FROM ME!" she screamed with such hate. "YOU WILL NEVER FOOL ME AGAIN! You make my blood boil! You are no almighty! You are the Wicked, itself!" she continued as her hand started to shake again. "Curse you and all of those who believe in you!"
More tears began to fall as all of her energy was put into her screaming for the loss of her son. "He no longer BREATHES because of YOU! He is buried within the depths of his own ashes because of YOU!"
She brought her hand down to chest, over her heart, and clutched her shirt tightly. She brought her head down, facing the floor, with closed eyes and continued to cry.
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