Mother

Her world was awash in crimson. It overwhelmed her, assaulting her very soul even as it lay still upon the earth. Such was its malice. The crimson did not rush forward in brigades - did not open fire upon those that it attacked. It merely existed.

Yet it remained. Once the troops had withdrawn and the firing had ceased, the crimson remained to mock those few souls shielded by mercy. It stained flesh and earth, marring both life and death in its malevolent hold. What was gone had not escaped it... what little was left could not.

Her hands were stained. As she strode from man to man, binding wounds and whispering words of comfort, suffering left its inevitable marks on her own flesh. For it was always to be like that. Healing could not fly in on the pristine wings of love and leave unscathed. Healing forged its way on a path of blood.

A tear found its way down her haggard cheek. They did not deserve this. Their ashen limbs had done nothing to merit the scarlet that clung to them – nothing but follow orders. The brave souls had marched into their demise singing songs of hope and glory.

Another song echoed without warning into her mind, like the irresistible call of a distant friend. A flood of memories washed unbidden over her, fierce and overwhelming even in their beauty. She had no choice but to succumb.

"Do you like my singing?"

His hand was warm in hers, sending a wave of heat through her chilled body. A smile lit her lips as she looked down at him. "Yes, my love. Your voice is fit for an angels' choir."

Her joy passed on to him. He began to run ahead, keeping one hand ever in hers. His dark curls bounced merrily with his rapid gait, dancing with that irrepressible rapture characteristic of young things. "Follow me," he called brightly. "I mustn't lose you. Father said I must take care of you."

"Wherever are you going?" she laughed. "Slow down, dear, slow down – I can't keep up with you."

The boy returned to her, an apologetic expression on his artless face. With a gentle smile, he reached up and placed his hand on her smooth cheek. "I shan't lose you," he promised. "I will always take care of you."

Without warning, an icy hand gripped hers, shattering her reverie. Pale, bloodied lips parted to whisper, but no sound issued forth. Feebly, with his very last reserve of strength, the young man enclosed her scarlet hands in his own and squeezed.

He was weak. His grip was feeble – his gaunt hands could barely cling to hers. But his hold sent a wave of agony over her, as debilitating as the strongest of blows. It was all she could do to kneel at his side and wipe his face with an already-soiled cloth. The repugnant mixture of blood and dirt clung to his blameless flesh, unwilling to release its captive.

She sighed and lowered herself to her knees before him, drawing a handkerchief from the folds of her dress. Suppressing a gentle laugh, she cleaned his beaming face of the tell-tale smears that marred it. They relinquished readily, submitting to the commanding swipe of her kerchief.

No! The woman silently rebuked herself, suppressing the tears that threatened to surface. It was not for her to weep. There were countless others – bereaved widows, desolate daughters... and mothers. Mothers, left with empty arms. Mothers, whose eyes were darkened as surely as those of the fallen. Mothers like her.

Yet they were not like her. They were alone; she was surrounded on all sides. Whilst they wept openly from afar over the loss of innocence, she walked among it – veiling all tears with an agonised face of impassive stone.

Try as she might, she could not conceal the beam that lit her face. It was infectious. Once more, a jubilant laugh bubbled up from the very depths of the boy's small frame – a winsome, irrepressible call to mirth. Who could deny it?

They made no attempt to. The sun had slipped well below the horizon ere they ceased rejoicing in the world around them. As darkness claimed the land, their hearts were shielded from its looming shadow. Night fell, but light remained.

The boy leaned against her, fighting a losing battle against the onslaught of sleep. His voice, deep in its drowsiness, reverberated in her mind like the gentle pealing of bells. "Good night..."

"Mother."

Instantly, the frayed remains of her world burst apart. The frail, nearly imperceptible voice fell upon her ears like a death knell. "Mother."

Tremors seized her body. She brought her bloodied hands to her face, hiding herself from the terror unfolding before her. A sigh of contentment escaped his lips, and she drew him closer to her side.

A wordless groan filled the air. She fell at his side.

And so she wept.