Based off an image I saw on Tumblr. Said image is the image for this story. You can see it up top.
It Hurts
The agony of my death was over in a flash. The peacock's blade skewered straight through my already broken heart. In a way, it was a cruel mercy of sorts.
I passed onto Heaven… with neither my son nor my husband at my side.
Most people say an afterlife well earnt is an afterlife full of bliss.
That's only half of the hyperbolic tale.
You are comforted by the clouds and the angels in Heaven, feeling lighter than a feather, more energetic than an insect, and wiser than any shaman on the Mortal Earth. God is by your side, nurturing you, caressing you as his child, happily attending your whims and wiping away every one of your tears.
Mortals say that there are no tears in Heaven. But that is only half the myth.
It hurts to see your only child grow up in a land far away from your touch.
It hurts to see him cry out hopelessly for a loving soul to come and shelter him.
It warms your heart to see an aging, eccentric yet wise old goose take your child under his wing, and love him unconditionally.
It makes your ethereal eyes gleam with glory to see your son take his first steps, speak his first words.
But it hurts to see that somewhere else, again beyond your reach, your soulmate suffers truly alone and aloof, his hopes and his loves all but cruelly stolen from him.
Your heart cracks a little, and you feel like you're dying a little bit with every passing day, when you see your child isolated at school. Seeing other children ignore his heart, tear him down about his size, weight, clumsiness, and incompatibility.
It hurts to see your child break down emotionally, because others look at his body rather than his heart. They view him with disapproval rather than endearment. They see him as eldritch rather than philanthropic.
And it hurts him inside, nearly all the time, as much as it hurts you.
His only solace during this period of despair is the loving wing that never fails to make his soul soar.
And in your child's dreams, he always manages to glimpse you. His heart is golden, and his spirit sublime. Through a spiritual portal, channelled by his purity, he is rewarded with the sight of you. His mother. Though he'll never know you in his life, he always carries a small and everlasting shard of memory of you. In his heart.
And that both comforts and crushes you.
It hurt to see your son rejected by the heroes he holds dear.
It hurt to see him hide away his fears and his misery to bring happiness to his father.
It hurt to see him spill out everything to the one he calls "master". The words that speak indescribable years of pain flow out in agonized torrents from your child's mouth as he relays in a few sharp sentences every wrong he's ever done, and every wrong others have levelled upon him.
Your soul shines when you see the master of your boy guiding him to triumph.
Your body convulses vibrantly with a brilliant aura when the surrogate father of your son once again guides him back to the path of righteousness with nothing more than a light sentence full of gentle and honest wisdom.
You smile proudly as your son takes his first true victory in life, and Heaven around you glows happily to celebrate the triumph of yet another legend.
Your soul flinches with agony as your son trembles with unwanted memories of the horrors that shattered his early life.
Your eyes bleed tears as your son questions his upbringing and his heritage. Can't he see that his liberty has been earned and vindicated long ago? That the only obstacle left for him is to once again bring justice to the people of China?
Why does your child concern himself with nothing but the painful spectres of the past? Why does he render your sacrifices for him pointless? Can he not see that his future has been purchased for him? Can he not see the open and happy paths that have been granted upon him?
Why does he seek for answers that only bring pain? Why does he endeavour futilely for an objective that could cost him everything?
It hurt when you saw the enemy take full advantage of your child's pain.
It hurt to see your child question his worth amongst his friends.
It hurt to see your murderer twist your sacrifice to shatter your son.
It was agony to see your murderer and his cannon annihilate your child.
It was agony to see his limp body, floating painfully and pitifully down a cold and unforgiving river.
God allowed you to let your feet touch the Earth again. If only for a little while. If only to once again hold your child. Hold him dear, and close to your broken heart.
The land that your feet touch are soaked and sodden with the tears of the spirits. The darkened clouds are the sobs and sighs of angels made tangible.
The river is as cold as ice, a river of blue blood flowing from broken hearts.
You lay your ghostly hands upon your child's head.
And it hurts.
You can feel his pain, physical and emotional.
You can see his dying heart, his fading soul.
And you can only hold him, keep him afloat on crying streams, unable to ease his pain.
It hurts to know that he will have to face his demons himself. All alone. All scared and all aggrieved.
Without anyone else.
And without you.
You are once more trapped in the Heavens, and it pains every bit of you to see your child broken, knowing the full weight of the burden, having let the truth smash head on into him.
You wept as you saw him sitting soullessly and godforsaken, mourning all that was ever lost that fateful night.
Then, your heart sings as your consolations and wisdoms flow through the mouth of an old bystander, setting the dormant heroic spark in your son alight once more.
You, and all of Heaven's residents, cheered when your son stood tall, and proud, and declared who he was, and what he was going to do.
You rooted for him as he freed his friends and led the charge.
Your heart bled when he saw his soulmate shattered and forlorn.
You prayed, ever so hard, that he would succeed in breaking down the cruel, ruthless, and insurmountable obstacle.
And with peace in his heart, he did.
You leapt for joy amongst the shining realm as your son brought justice and harmony to China once more.
You beamed with utter happiness as your child expressed his love for his soulmate, who totally returned the feelings.
And you sighed with pride as your child lovingly declared the goose his earthly father.
It hurts.
But the pain has gone away now.
Replaced by the quintessence of concord and amity.
It hurts… no longer.
Your son is at peace and complete.
And the love and happiness and joy that you radiate sparks the interest of your other loved one, in a land far away. He has managed to find his own peace and has helped survivors transcend the heartbreak of the tragedy.
Your love speaks to him, hints to him of a significant, wonderful thing that has just transpired.
He knows the truth now.
And like you, he is no longer in pain.
It hurts. No more.
Pardon me if this story seems rushed in some places. I do apologize.
But I just had to get this oneshot out of my heart.
Especially when I saw that image in Tumblr.
Please leave a review, telling me what you thought. Also tell me if you teared up at the image as well.
I sure as heck did.
I now bid you farewell, and hope you may find your own Inner Peace.
Transformers 0 over the moon and out.