I have not much to say. I wrote this piece for Mother's Day, didn't get to post it though. I stumbled upon it today so...
SOLACE
There was an ache to the movement.
Hidden and wretched, it bubbled deep inside him, scorching his very existence.
His eyes kept staring at the tufts of soft white snow, littering the ground in a haunting manner.
Pure.
Clean.
Real.
His footsteps were light, not disturbing the enchanting spell of quiet hanging over the frozen wasteland.
There was a soft squelch and he closed his eyes, not bothering to look down at the gleaming puddle water, shimmering at him in a taunting way. It would show the light strokes of dull blue staining his hair, would show contours of his face, skin too pale and eyes a conspicuous shade, captivating and intense, it would show hard and sharp angles, all so different, so unlike hers.
The black held onto his skin that he wore with an eerie blatancy. He mourned without hiding, without concealing, letting the agony ooze from each pore lining his skin, remembering.
His gaze bore into that of his reflection and the tear mercilessly left the confines of his lashes, only stoking the anguish inhabiting his body.
His hands trembled as he slowly traced the calloused lines marking her skin, fingers roaming over the ridges, the hollows, the soft dip of her wrists, brushing against the withering wrinkled skin. White wispy hair that still retained the light streaks of pale blue was coaxed into little ringlets when she tried to push the brush down the encaging locks.
He smiled and reached out, slowly untangling her quivering fingers from the wooden handle of the accessory. "Let me help."
Her previously frowning lips upturned, the curl stunningly lining her mouth, the glow of relief evident in her soft and caring eyes. She nodded and he scooted towards her.
Soft silky strands brushed from in between his fingers as he, with tenderness to his movement, stroked them with the hairbrush.
She was weak, fragile, her body feeble against his strong one as she smoothed down the shirt and when she was satisfied looked up at him; the soft emerald green like a bright glistening crystal shimmered, flecks of gold corrupting the edges. There was an enthralling glow to her skin, a bright ashen essence to her being.
She was beautiful.
Her voice was gentle, revealing the slightest amount of amusement and fondness as her hands traced curve of his cheek in a motherly caress. "But my son is more handsome."
He blinked, realising just then he had spoken his thoughts aloud.
A teasing lopsided grin met her, "Ah… such modesty, mother," He pried her fingers from where they gently were setting the collar of his shirt straight and pressed his lips to her hand, which felt small in his long deft fingers.
She gave him a pointed look, letting loose a soft chuckle at the cock of his eyebrow. "Oh, hush. Now hurry up or you'll get late."
There was a quiver to her lips as she tried to form the word by searching relentlessly for it in the crevices of her mind. A frustrated look masked her subtle features.
"What is it, mother?"
"No… just keep quiet, Damian. I am trying to think."
He simply watched her, a smile slowly creeping up his lips as she hobbled across the room, the sound of the wooden cane a low tap against the marbled floor and started rummaging through the cabinets.
He shook his head.
"Tell me, mother, maybe I can—"
"No, you can't help me. I put it here somewhere. I can find it." She said dismissively.
A sigh accompanying an "Okay" tumbled from his lips.
"Mother, just let me help. Tell me what are you looking for?"
"No, Damian. Let me do it! You don't have to help me every time with everything."
He reached out. "Mother, stop being stubborn, let me—"
"No!" She huffed, her old wrinkled hands gripping the stand tightly. "Just leave me alone, Damian!"
He left the room without a word.
It was her soft sobs that suddenly caught his attention. He hurried towards the woman, sitting at his bed, caressing the pillow that lay in her lap as the transparent watery globules rained down, meandering past the creases carved in her skin by age.
"Mother…" He said softly when he approached her as she with a swift brush of hands tried wiping the tears cascading down her cheeks.
Damian kneeled down at her feet, taking her hand in his and looked up at her. "What is it, mother? Was it something I said?"
She simply shook her head in a soft movement and slowly removed her hand from his to gently pull him to her, cradling his head in an embrace and cried.
A deep worry and ache gnawed at his heart. "Mother, why are you—"
"I am growing old, my child," She said with a wistful tone to the words, the repetition of the words coming out in a heavy whisper. "I am growing old..."
Confused as to why the prospect of reaching old age deeply grieved her, Damian placed a chaste kiss to her forehead and lifted her chin.
"You should leave, Damian."
Taken aback, he stammered, "W-what?"
"I am growing old," She repeated. "You should not have to stay here with me, taking care of me; you should be living your life. I will continue to age and die one day and nothing will stop that from happening…" Her bony fingers caressed his cheek, "Why do you stay? You could go find a nice girl, have a family, live a happy life but you stay here... I can give you nothing, my child…" Her voice descended into a low whisper as her lips quivered and her eyes glistened. "Nothing… I am simply a burden."
Lips parted, he looked at her, trying to drown in her pain if it helped ridding her of it. There was a conviction to the way he said it, firmness—belief, "I need no one else by my side but you, mother. I never have. Never will."
She sobbed, holding onto him believing him to be the last solace for her in this wretched world.
Everything about his existence seemed to contradict hers.
She was the epitome of serenity, he the loose tangled threads of terror.
Her soul was dipped in the purity of white while he held the black torn flag of destruction.
Her presence entailed to soothe but his steps marred the ground with haunting painful reminders.
She possessed the soft caring hands which knew how to mend the gashes his merciless claws carved.
Everything...
Everything seemed to contradict.
"What have you done?!"
She shook her head in disbelief, tears falling down in unforgiving currents down her cheeks. "If you needed something, you should have asked me, Damian. Why this?! Why did you do this?" Her voice was demanding, the hidden pleas melding with her tone masking her pain.
"I had to—"
"No, you did not!" Her small form scuttled towards him, his shirt grasped in her fingers as she forced her son to look at her. "I did not raise you to become this, Damian! I did not raise you to become a monster!"
He silently stared at her, as she shook her head, tormented and sorrow-stricken.
Monster.
The word like a vulture scavenged on the little strength that was left within him. He had come here to warn her, to take her away, to hide her from the evil that clouded his life, his being. But the moment he had seen her, defiant and resolved, something inside him had been cracked up, shrivelled, urging him to face the reality. She believed he was incapable. Until, he showed her. He showed her his hands that wrung the stain that would forever haunt his conscience.
He made her believe he was a monster.
A hollow ache parasitically hosted his soul with the intention to blight.
She slid down, collapsing at his feet, hands clutching her heart trying to ease the throbbing, the agony racking her body. "Why did you do it, Damian? Why…?!" She sucked in a breath in a wheezing croak. "My child… You ruined yourself… You ruined yourself…"
The heaviness in her voice singed his skin, the knot in his throat suffocating him.
Why?
Because he could never be what she wanted; because somewhere along the way he had lost the light she handed him to chase away the darkness muddling his path; because during the struggle he forgot the correct way and stumbled into the deadly grip of binding chains.
Somewhere along the way he stained the snow with black ink thinking it could hide him in the ashy frozen desert from predatory eyes.
She was solace… solace to his shrivelling existence.
Her chapped lips were pressed to his forehead and the tear stained his cheek. "You can do it, Damian."
He shook his head in a silent negation of the words that she had uttered, the croak of his hoarse and pained voice resonating.
His pained grey eyes shifted to gaze into her deep emerald ones.
They melded into a sincere aching sketch of hope and his world shattered.
It was his fault.
Only his fault.
He slowly crouched, knees dipping into the thick layers of snow, feeling the strength being wrenched from him when he saw the stone. The wound split fresh and his skin screamed, the invisible scar of loss engraved in his flesh mercilessly.
His trembling fingers caressed the words embedded in the rock marking her grave.
Head hung low and lips quivering, the words slipped like a whisper, like a call for help, his soul searching for the rope that would pull him out to safety, the purity of snow, and the tender presence of her hands cradling him.
"Forgive me, mother…"
Apologies for being soppy? And also for any mistakes... Yeah...
Anyways, leave a review. ^-^