I remember it?...how could I ever forget?
22 years ago...I met my dark angel...
Too heavy was the burden on my heart that day...as I walked through the tangle of dead oak trees, their once vibrant green leaves now colored a dead, dark brown. I held out a hand. A stray leaf floated into my palm. I stood there...a mind frozen in time. I pulled myself from my repose and turned to look back. Back to a place of mourning and sadness, of heartache and heartbreak.
"Colin..." is the name I hear whispered on the wind. I shudder.
How nature mocks me.
To dare whisper my dead son's name. I glance back again. The funeral procession is leaving. They lower my Colin into his final resting place. No one has come to find me.
I don't want to be found.
I continue to walk deeper into the forest. The week's events playback like a black and white movie in my mind. Colin was so vibrant. He was like Martha. They both had this ability to put a smile on anyone's face. They never met a stranger. I promised Martha, as the demon of pancreatic cancer ravaged her body that I would look after Colin. Protect him. Our son.
Now Colin is gone.
Had I not decided to leave that night
Had I told Mr. Baxter no
Had I not been so caught up in my work
He would not have been killed by that man.
Curse him, curse me.
I was walking through that god-forsaken forest. When I saw him. My dark angel. I didn't know that at the time however.
He was small and wrapped in a white blanket. His head was down and he moved not an inch.
"Excuse me..." I said softly. I approached with caution, lest I scared him and he fled. I kneeled down besides him. Not an easy feat for someone my age.
"Young man...are you...ok?"
He craned his neck up at me. I gasped. His baby face was covered in bruises, both old and new. Jet black hair cascaded over his forehead and down his face. But his most striking feature were his eyes.
Cold and hard.
His owlish dark-gray eyes bore holes into my head. Their hawk-like gaze was magnified by the semi-circle of black that lined the lower lids.
"What's your name, son?" I asked gently.
Son. How that word cuts me to the quick.
He said nothing. His expressionless face was marred with a slight wince of pain.
"Are you hurt?" I asked quickly. "Please, let me see. I want to help you."
He simply stared at me. Slowly he scooted over and revealed his right leg. I gasped. A deep stab wound was in his tiny leg. The blood stained his pale legs, which, like his face, were covered in old and new bruises. I wondered if they were all over his body. I scooped the boy up. He tried to fight back but was severely weakened by the loss of blood. He found his efforts futile and remained still.
I ran as fast as I could back to my car. A new determination and zest for life washed down on me like a fresh wave of sea water in the summer sun.
I could not save one child.
I must save this one.
