I'm a terrible, horrible person.


"Mama," she said "please wake up." There was blood on her face, there was blood everywhere. The girl shook her mother in futile attempts at waking her. Tears were streaming down the girl's face, leaving clear trails where there was once dirt. "It's getting dark."

The body was too heavy to carry. She tried balancing it on her back, but it was too hard. Mary resorted to grasping her mother's pale wrists and dragging. Hours crawled by slowly, each one harder than the last, each footstep harder than the last. By then, Mary was all cried out, and she was only coughing and yelling for somebody to help her, although help would never come.

It seemed like it was harder digging the hole after she had towed the body all that way. Her hands were bloody at the first rays of sun, but it was getting hard to tell the old blood from the new. Mary dropped the remains of her mother into the pit. There was a little more sobbing, even if no tears would come.

She covered the body up, sticking a rock at the head of the grave. With a smaller, sharper rock, Mary wrote "Mama" in big, childish handwriting. Clouds formed in the morning sky, and it soon began to shower.

Rainwater flooded the remaining blood, sweat, dirt, and tears all away.


Moved from fresh-hot-yaois