Introvert's Daydreams (One-Shot Stories)

008. The Vow of Silence

THE SILENCE — no, the insolent noise — of the night complemented the scene that time. The greedy crows flew nearer, ready to bite a bit of flesh, but I beat them. The moon smirked; the stars laughed; the wind whistled as if reveling over the pitiful dead body. An army of frogs croaked and croaked; the crickets chirped and chirped creating an enthralling but infuriating melody around. The grasses grew soggy by dint of the sticky, rusty-scented liquid as the nightfall passed by. I cried. I vowed revenge and served it right.

The endeavor honed my reminiscences — not dampened them. Appallingly damaged I had been and am; but why will others say I am just hallucinating? Crazy I am not — I can assure that. My reminiscences and instinct were and are remarkably exceptional. Yes, mute was I born, but I can tell you the whole story in a way I can. It is dreadful to imply that I just created this story; but if you think of, it disturbs me all my days and nights elapsed.
Fourth day it was since the disastrous Great Typhoon hit our village. It was dawn and the weather was still howling, cold drizzle was falling, uprooted and tumbled trees everywhere, all houses wrecked and crows squawked as they flew from corpse to corpse. I and my daughter, Lullaby, were shivering — no, we were trembling in terror — as we looked at a particular body partied by a group of the avaricious birds. We could discern he was we were searching for — despite of the thick, hazy fog — because of the G-clef tattoo in his right hand. He was the man we were depending on — we found him dead. We borne the roughness of the nature thwarted, isolated from the other living men, no food, no shelter, no clean clothes to wear, our bodies were full of bruises and wounds — the fact that no man to take care of us weakened us both. Frail and fainting were she and I.
Lullaby — a strong ten-year-old girl she was — grew thinner and thinner as the days passed by. Albeit I could still see her face as radiant as it was before the typhoon came — or was she just concealing everything behind her smile and pale round brown eyes like her father always did? My instinct perceived she was. My husband named her Lullaby because the moment I delivered her, she yelled a cry but silenced when he hummed a native lullaby. I loved the girl — but not her smile nor her eyes.
My husband — whose real name I will tell not because it would shock you that is why you should know not — was a musician from the city. I met him one summer ten years ago when his band spent a vacation in our village. His smile, those attracting lips and his round brown eyes — the way he looked at me; I knew there was something he was hiding from everyone. Until that night — oh, so tacit night — came; something — very, very sinful — happened between us. The villagers venerate his kindness and politeness — but among everyone, I am the only one who knew him well. Since then, he called me Silence — is this an endearment or an insult? I did know not. He made a vow to marry me, and so he did fulfill it. I also made a vow — hidden it was because I was the only one who knew it.
The weather became calmer. We left the village — a bustling village before, but now turned into a ghost town. Taking this labyrinth-like forest was, believe me or not, a shortcut path to the city. I thought maybe — just maybe — the local government will have mercy to give us relief goods. I thought — because crazy I am not — I must blame the government for not being responsible enough to serve their fellow countrymen. Or should I blame God for sending the Great Typhoon to our village? I will dare not. All I know, the Almighty nor I was not liable for that disaster and what will happen. I had to walk through that forest with my daughter.
The forest was covered by thick trees creating big shadows. Cold it was in it. The wild grasses moved as if they were strung to a puppeteer's fingers. The soil was slippery and wet. It crept my paunches effectually. Was there someone out there behind us? Because crazy I am not, nor hallucinating, I think there was none. All I know was we were in a maze.
She tried to walk upright, albeit I noticed her body wobbling. She tripped by a gigantic root swelled above the ground but — in spite of everything — managed to get up, brushed away the dirt from her clothes and looked at me. Her bruises were now turned into new open wounds, particularly in her knees and elbows. Pained she was, but still smiled as if saying, "I am fine, Momma!" or "I am strong, Momma!" or "I don't need your help, Momma!" I tried my best to think of some reasons why — crazy I am not that was why — she smiled, but I just shrugged it all away. After all — I was sure as clear as crystal — her smile and the spark of her eyes will soon fade away. I hugged her tight as if I was saying, "It is alright, Lullaby, my dearest. Momma will always be here." A heinous yet rational plan hit my head. I hid a grin from her — or did I tolerably cackle? And maybe she heard me. But my instinct — behind our embrace — assumed she did not.Did I already tell you that her smile and eyes were alike to her father's? Oh yes, I already did tell that.
I held her hands as we walked inside the maze-like forest and felt that she was very, very warm. Did she have a fever? Probably she had. In this condition — I can say because of my not-so self-effacing instinct — she will soon pass away. The least that I could do at that moment was to force a smile, hug her again, kiss her forehead as if I was saying "Be strong, my child!" but — look neither to her smile nor to her eyes. Those dreadful yet bright eyes — not the cold wind — made me shiver.
We walked and walked until it was about dusk. I assumed the city was still miles away. We stumbled and slipped so many times, thus worsening our wounds and creating another set of bruises. Our bodies were covered by small tinges of blood all over. We grew weaker and weaker, yet we stopped not till we reached the middle of the great thicket. Exasperated we were, but I did a not-so-restful sit down and lay my back to a huge stump of a tree while she slept in my lap.I started to think remorse — proof that crazy I am not — about what will happen to us: We are both weak. We will die soon in hunger and infection of our wounds. Her fever will surely kill her more quickly than I. We will be gone. Think and think and think: survival is a must. The plan! Yes, it has to be done!
She was sleeping silently for hours in that position. I flipped away her black hair that covered her face. Her lovely face had that devious smile — I grew manic as I gazed upon it. I cupped her bony cheek; that woke her up. At last! I saw that dreadful eyes with unadulterated likeness to her father — perfectly round and brown, covered by slyly innocence over it that startled my guts and made my blood boil. Now I could see nothing else of the girl's face for I had directed my stare — my instinct that was why — precisely to her lips and eyes.
Hallucinating I was not — I heard the flapping of the wings of a murder of crows as they flew down in the distance. I heard another distinct sound: Lub-dub! Lub-dub! Lub-dub! Lub-dub! And it was growing louder and louder. Was it her heartbeat or mine? My instinct assumed it was hers — and that increased my vehemence towards the plan.
I hugged Lullaby. She hugged me back. I barely breathed. I strive how gradually I could maintain my embrace. The heartbeats increased as if there was someone inside the chest beating a drum. Quicker and quicker it grew — louder and louder every second. Did I say was worried? I was. But do you still think of me gone crazy? Please do not, because I am not.
Midnight came, covered by the noise of the forest that serenades everyone to fall asleep — an odd noise that it annoyed me. But the pounding grew deafening! The heart will explode, I thought. I assumed: I am the only one who can hear the heartbeats, so what did I have to fear? The damned time has come! With a shout — oh, I completely forgot I am a mute — I pushed her away from my embrace, clenched my left fist and — with all the strength left in my body — punched her throat very, very strong. She squawked once — just once.
Afterwards I dragged her to the top of the stump, and looked at her face. I could not see her face but of the rapist ten years ago. I then grinned sheepishly to see the feat so superbly accomplished so far. But I could still hear the heartbeat — louder and quicker than it beat before. This time, I realized it was mine, and with that realization, it became calm.

Lullaby was dead—

I removed her ragged clothes and scrutinized her thin body. I eavesdropped to her chest — long silence. She was indeed a corpse! She was still warm; I knew it was because she had a fever. If you are still considering me crazy, then I had no choice but to tell you what I did to her body — more particularly to her smile and those round brown eyes. I loved her, but I had to hide her corpse. The noise of that night wailed, but that bothered me not.
Irksome task it was. I dismembered her corpse using a sharp — very, very sharp — broken glass that I picked up nearby. I detached the skinny legs and arms, the fingers and the toes one by one — most especially her head — from her body. I threw the other parts — except the head — to the murder of crows. I pitied them because they were drooling over our bodies since they came. I watched them attentively how they hastily finished their banquet. Now, the one who was drooling in hunger was I. How I wish you saw how enviously and gluttonously they looked at the head of the corpse I held — if you could just see their ravenous eyes. I looked at the head of Lullaby. Oh no! The insulting smile and those eyes were still there. Is she daring me? Crazy I am not; she was. My stomach furiously begged for food — so I gouged those eyes out and ate them. I tore her lips and unquestioningly gnashed and swallowed it. I tell you this: it was bothersome to bite raw meat.
I could scarcely see the face of my rapist.
The silence — no, the insolent noise — of the night complemented the scene that time. The greedy crows flew nearer, ready to bite a bit of flesh but I beat them. The moon smirked; the stars laughed; the wind whistled as if reveling over the pitiful dead body. An army of frogs croaked and croaked; the crickets chirped and chirped, creating an enthralling but infuriating melody around. The grasses grew soggy by dint of the sticky, rusty-scented liquid as the nightfall passed by. I cried. I vowed revenge on my rapist and did fulfill it.
Three luster had passed, but the deed was never detected. If someone will ask me where she is, all I can say is she is hiding somewhere; but in my reminiscences, I am the only one who knew she was hiding deep down the paunches of those rapacious crows.
Could a crazy woman do this? I think not. Mute I was born — but crazy? I am not. God and the Heavens know I am never. I can say a vow that I am not.
FIN. 

(Originally published on July 18, 2017, at #SAVELITERATURE (PAPEL Writers))