When The Dead Arise

Chapter 42

Well, it was officially mothers day. You sat in the dojo, making it look like you were meditating. In reality you were remembering the streets.

On the streets you would often be on your own. Often times you weren't with the children or Zach. Most times you were hidding or stealing. In fact, you only saw the children once a week, and Zach once a month, if lucky.

On mothers day you would spend the entire day being silent. You didn't fight, you didn't talk, you didn't complain. You simply stayed in one place and spent the entire day thinking. Not of one particular thing, but of everything.

You had made it clear to Snake earlier that you wanted to be alone. He promised to leave you and made sure that no one entered the dojo. You thanked him and haven't seen him since.

Sitting in this room, kneeling before all your weapons that had been spread out, you wished you could remember what your mother looked like. You had no picture and nothing to go on. After all, it was clear that your looks came from your father, as well as Jasmine.

The only memory you had of your mother was when she had died. You had been sleeping in her arms, dozing off. When you woke up late at night to the sound of sirens, you realized that your mother didn't try and comfort you the way she normally did. In the dark ally way you had touched her cheeks to try and wake her.

You had shook her, unable to really see more than an outline of her body in the dark. When she began to grow cold is when you decided to go looking for a blanket. But you lost your way.
You spent days trying to get back, wishing that mother was also looking for you. On cold nights you would imagine her asking around for you. You imagined her desperately searching for you, for two years. When you finally found your way back there was nothing there. Someone new had moved into that alley.

At the age of six, you had already developed a temper. You fought the new comer out of rage. You searched for any sign of your mother, but there was nothing. Except, far in the corner by the rats, were two old daggers.

You broke out of your daze as the door creaked open. Your body tensed up immediatly, no one was allowed to enter. You stood up, only to realize how weak your knees were from kneeling. You grabbed the closest dagger and lifted it to throw.

"Its ok," a woman's voice with some sort of accent stated. She snaked her head around the door to show that she was muslim. It was clear by the head cover she wore.

She flashed a wide smile that could win money. She slowly but happily stepped inside and closed the door behind herself. She stalked towards you carefully, a peach folder in her hands. Though she had the head peice, she didn't were the rest of traditional Muslim clothing. In fact, she was wearing G I Joe clothing. You wondered how you had never noticed her before.

When she keeled down in front of you, you finally lowered the dagger, but didn't let it go.
"Sorry to bother you," she placed down the folder and lifted her hands to look as of she were praying, "I'm Duha, nice to meet you Fire," she gave a slight bow of her head.

You wondered what to say, "Why don't you have the rest of Muslim clothing?" You inquired.

She placed her hands in her lap, "We only need to cover up to the bosom," she signalled to how her head peice ended at her mid chest, "the men who say that women should cover their entire body are extremist Muslims. They aren't real muslims, and they make the rest of us look bad."

You were shocked by this new information, "I though all Muslim women wear the dresses."
Duha shook her head again, "It depends on where you live and the husband. If you live with an extremist husband you must wear the entire dress. If you live with a traditional Muslim you wear only the head peice."

"What about America?" You suddenly felt untrusted in knowing how Muslim traditions go on the media.

"Again," Duha stated, "it depends on the husband. Some wear the dress, others only the head peice, and some don't wear either at all. Anyway," she clapped her hands and gave a smile, "I should show you why I came here."

You examined her clothing and noticed the ring on her finger, "Are you married?"

Duha looked at her ring, "Not anymore."

"What do you mean?"

Duha gave a somber smile, "Muslim men are allowed to have several wives. But he has to treat them all fairly, if he doesn't they can leave."

"Was he unfair to you?" You asked.

She gave a curt nod and lifted her head to show a smile, "He was a traditional Muslim. But his three other wives grabbed all his attention, so I left. But the ring is too beautiful to get rid of."

"Sorry," you found yourself saying, "I shouldn't have asked."

Duha shook her head, "It's fine. Anyway," she lightly pushed the folder closer to you, "As soon as I heard you were coming I began to do some research on your mother. There wasn't much to go on, but I looked for a long time," she tapped the folder with her fingers, "I found her, after a few months of looking, I recorded everything I could get about her. I didn't finish until today, and wanted you to get this as soon as possible."

You stared wide eyed at the folder. This folder contained everything known about your mother. Everything you didn't know was in there.

You looked at the kind woman with an open mouth, "Thank you," you felt the tears beginning to form.

"I just wanted you to feel welcome," she elegantly stood up, "I hope you like what you find," she clapped her hands together like she was praying again and bowed her head slightly before turning to leave.

You instantly place the daggers down. You opened pale folder in an achingly slow manner. Once open you were greeted by the picture of your mother.

You felt a small tear form at the corner of your eye. But you ignored it and stroked the picture of our mother.

You stroked her hollow cheek bones and pointed eyes. By looking at this picture you could clearly see that she had been Chinese, and the birth records said so too.

You read a three paragraph summary on your mother. You could tell Duha had put a lot if effort into it, since there was so much detail for the little known about her.

Her name was Sofia, and she was the only daughter of Cheng and Fa. Cheng and Fa were victims to drunk driving, and hospitalized soon after. Mother had just finished moving into her own apartment, and the plan had been for her parents to pay half the rent, to give her more study time.

But after her parents death she had to drop out of school to sustain herself, having no relatives or close friends. She began to sell her body for money, but it was never enough to last her. Her last documented hospital visit was when she was 23, after getting drunk in a club.

After that she had only ever been seen at night clubs. Until she was no longer seen all together, staying in areas where there were either poor quality, or none at all, street cameras.

You closed the folder. Knowing that there was nothing in there about you. You wished you had known her. You wished she were still alive. You wished, with all your heart, that you could talk to her.

You lifted your head to the ceiling, "Happy mother's day Sofia, I miss you."

And with that the day ended.