If you take each second in life like there wont be another, if you live each day in the worry that the next day you will not wake up, if your are begs and pleas to be released from hell are not
answered, only then will you know what my life consists off. I live in a world where each person I turn to turns the other cheek as the people I beg for acceptance ignore me. Begging is what I do,
it is my job in life, but I do not beg for money or food. I beg to be free, I beg that my day will come just like everyone else’s does. I send my wishes to heaven but non-are answered. She told me
on the day my life took its turn, that my day would come, just like everyone else’s. Patience is the skill I needed I was told, for the long wait does not seem so long when the day comes.
She was my mother, the kindest and most gentle person my ears had ever come across. She cherished me like no other, each night I would fall asleep in her arms while she rocked me and sang too me in her sweet tender voice. Each note she sang rushed through me as if a tsunami of joy, for my smile, built on a structure of her love. She took me everywhere with her, as much as a burden I must have been she cared not, for I also kept her smiling. To the river each morning, she would take me to get the water so that we may drink. She said that god blessed this river thousands of years ago so that our families could drink beautiful liquids of the heavens. She said that if you drink enough of it you would one day meet god and he would bless you. I know now she told me this so that as a child I would drink a lot, she had her own way of doing everything. She chewed on her long black hair than ran down of the top of her head like a waterfall of a towering drop. She always closed her eyes when she sat down; she always stroked my face when I was sad. I was her everything and she was my mother. She and I lived in a small hut. My father however, I had never met. She said he left us when I was still in the womb but I never seemed much to care. My mother was as if two parents put together anyway.
It was the day, the morning of the day that I named the change day. This was due to it being the turning point in my life. Each sunrise was never different from the next; they all glazed the land over with an ocean of alluring orange. They all marked the beginning of a new day, but this one was different, I could sense it. My veins pumped in the opposite direction my heartbeat slower and faster at the same time. The sun rose with a red colour instead of the usual orange. The humming birds lay silent when usually there singing sweetens the scenery. She called me, “Ban-Chua, it is time get your bucket sweet heart, we are of to the river”. It was like that of a morning she would call me by the same name, Ban-Chua, usually she called me Ban but as for in the mornings she would stick with my full name. She only really ever called me this when she was angry with me, trying to tell me something very important and of course in the mornings. We walked merrily to the river hand in hand like usual. She watched over me like an eagle on a mouse scattering across a scorching plain. I still could not get the feeling away I had that morning; it still made each footstep heavier than the next. By the time we reached the river it had become somewhat a burden, crushing down on me, it was like trying to walk up a hill holding an elephant on my back. I did not let it bother me though and I went to the best spot in the lake and filled up my bucket.
We started on the long walk back to the village, it seemed to take longer this time, each tree seemed to be repeating its self and each animal that cried out, it seemed to echo for so long. I looked up at her; she held the bucket in her left hand whilst holding my right. I smiled at her, she smiled back, I tried to get the feeling away. I tried harder and harder but it stayed in my mind, it was getting me frustrated I needed to sit down. I let go of her hand and ran to a stray rotted log just lying there in the middle of the woods. It was here I sat; it was here I last saw her; it was here my life took its turn. She spoke to me in a cheery voice, what is wrong she asked; I hid the worry within me as I spoke. Nothing is wrong I told her, I am just tired I said. I was lying to my mother. Something we all swear not to do, lie to the ones we love, to be untruthful to the ones whom we care for the most. All of a sudden, the liquids of the skies fell onto us; black clouds beset the skies above us. The presence of evil I could somehow sense, the burden suddenly besieged me. The world came to a sudden stand still; there she fell, into the trap built for animals. I rushed over to the hole where she lay, she cried my name, Ban-Chua she cried, she lay in red, her body punctured, her life falling into the darkness, her blinks where numbered. At 30, she told me to stay strong; she knew she was going to leave. 29 28 27 never give up trying she told me, 26 25 24 23 22 21 20 19 throughout these she told me that life is something we should all treasure, don’t let one thing spoil the rest of the things to come. The last 18 she told me that not to fear for my day will come, not to spend my life in depression and loneliness, my day would come she said, just like everyone’s does, and it does not seem so long when it comes.
I stood there in the pouring rain, except the rain came from not the sky, but my eyes. I stood there as my mother’s eyes closed for eternity, as they lock up so did me on the inside. The immense number of trees stood tall around, watching and staring. I fell to my knees in the pool of tears and sorrow. I shut my eyes and the whole world stopped, I could almost hear the slow piano playing in the setting, each note representing each tear and when the music stops, it still echoes for time. The melody stops and the harmony of music ends; it is over.
© Copyright 2016 Lewis Earnshaw. All rights reserved.
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