Your Life Over Mine (on hold)

Prologue

Irene had always been certain that her child was a special one. Ever since the time she had given birth to him, there had just been something about him that assured her that he wasn’t quite like the other children in their small village – a tender, golden glow around him, invisible but so very tangible if you were only close enough.

Of course, most mothers believe their children to be special, to have a special gift, but to Irene it had never been just a conjecture, she knew Philip was different. Even if she couldn’t quite say why yet. That, however, should change quite quickly.

***

It was the day after Philip’s first birthday when it happened.

Irene was just preparing the supper for her husband, a chicken stew with vegetables fresh from her small garden. Her son was safely tucked into his crib next to the fireplace, oblivious to anything happening around him, even his mother’s voice as she softly sang to herself, cherishing the beautiful day.

The peacefulness, however, was soon disrupted by the loud bang the door made as it gave away to fierce, strong fists colliding with its surface.

“On the floor and nothing will happen to you,” a scruff voice called and before Irene had time to even turn around there was an arm firmly slung around her neck, pushing her down to the ground, but at the same time almost cutting off her breath. The wooden spoon, she had used to stir the stew fell from her fingers and scattered to the floor almost at the same time as her body hit the hard ground with a dull thud.

“I have nothing you could possibly want,” Irene cried in fear, rightly guessing the men to be robbers of some sort. Her body trembled with fear as she lifted her head and glimpsed four men, all of them tall and board-shouldered, ravaging her home. However, the only thing she could really bring herself to care about was the sleeping figure of her son in the far corner of the hut, all alone and without any protection.

“No,” she choked out, immediately regretting having lifted her head at all when one of the men noticed Philip and approached him.

“He’s my only son. Please!”

The man turned around, lips curled into a mean, mocking smirk.

“Oh, is that so?” he asked before reaching for the dagger tucked into his belt. “I will make sure he will be just fine.”

Vision blurred with tears, Irene could hardly tell Philip’s crib and the chair next to it apart, but she tried to crawl towards her baby anyway. Inch upon inch she managed before suddenly there was a hot, searing pain running from her hand all through her body. She let out a blood-curling scream.  

“Be quite, stupid wife,” one of the men called, pressing his foot even harder down onto Irene’s hand.

Irene could barely hold her wails back, but tried to respond anyway, beg the intruders even if at least it would make them leave Philip alone. Raising her head she tried to locate her son but suddenly she was completely blinded, her whole vision turning as white as a freshly washed sheet. The whole hut was illuminated with such a brightness, Irene felt as if she was losing her eye sight for a moment. With the light also came utter silence. Screaming followed soon enough though, and Irene feared more for her son’s life than anything else.

But when the light died down and Irene got hold of her sight again, she could only stare in astonishment. The four man were all lying face down on the ground, groaning in pain as they tried to move but were restrained by an invisible force.

Without a second thought Irene scrambled to her feet and rushed over to her son’s crib only to see him still wrapped in his blanket, bright smile on his face. And Irene swore that she could see a glimmer of gold leaving Philip’s otherwise bright blue eyes.