Fear.
So familiar.
Hands ushering him not to gently, but not ungently into the closet.
The hands were feminine; neatly but not overly extravagant in the manicure. No polish, just plain. Nothing was wrong with plain. It had allowed him to feel so safe and loved for ten years of his life. He looked up at the caramel-skinned woman.
Her face looked sad and worried, but somehow managed to still hold love. A neat trick; especially when her tone was one of gravity. All that, but love was still recognizable. Fear, not for her, but for him. Not his father. Him.
He stood in the closet trembling, unable to stop. He wanted to be brave. Like her. Like his father.
She wasn't scared. He - his father - wasn't scared. He was preparing. Banging. Splinters of wolf sounded as the door was broken apart. His father yelled warnings to his mother. She turned away from him and looked over her shoulder. Sadness crosses crosses
over her features and outweighs the amount of fear. She turns back and her face is clear with love and pleading.
"Everything will be okay," she said. "Stay in here. And no matter what you hear: Do not come out of here until all noise has settled." Her hands reached up to cup his small face; thumbs swiping sideways gently to wipe his cheeks of moistness. He
hasn't realized he was crying. "Don't be afraid my darling. Everything will be okay. I promise. Just stay hidden." It felt okay to...she was there to wipe away the liquid that represented his fear. She was there.
Her lips, so soft and luscious, pressed against his forehead gently, just like they did before he went to sleep. They disappeared with her hands and she stood as the tall and elegant priestess, he'd heard so many stories about. She closed the shutter
door and rays of light from the room filtered into it.
The noise ensued growing louder and screams, battle cries, were heard. His hand lingered towards the door, knowing that a push would allow him to see...maybe help.
Do not come out of here until all noise has settled.
He stopped. She told him not to.
Everything will be okay.
She promised.
I promise.
He swallowed but already felt his heart breaking. For some reason, he knew, he felt it - the lie. Nothing was okay outside. Her screams. His screams. They weren't okay. They were full of rage. Pain. Nothing that signified being okay. He scooted back and
replayed his mother's words in his head and the fun day at the carnival they had had, only mere hours ago.
His back touched the wall and he slid down; knees pulled to his chest, he shook before eventually trying to fall asleep and failing. That was all settled when a blast of magic from outside seemed to filter into every crevice and corner of the room, and
it rendered him unconscious.
Two hours passed.
He opened his eyes and realized the light wasn't as bright. It was bronze and half the closet was now dark. He rose warily to his feet and listened.
Silence.
No more screams.
No more commotion.
No more noises.
He pushed open the door with his small hands.
Everything was a mess. Anything wood was demolished into nothing but splinters, while everything of metal was cracked or melted. All glass was shattered and set in sprayed pattern across the floor. He glanced over at the door. It was in pieces, not even
its hinges remained. He realized the doorframe wasn't even there, just a jagged hole where something tore through. That's when he realized an unnatural color. The shaggy beige carpet was soaked in it...it looked black. But on the wall it was red.
Weren't the walls brown?
He saw it. The sources.
His father was lying acids the bed (broken in half) on his back, his arms splayed out, legs too, in unnatural angles. His eyes were closed, his usually neatly combed hair, now crazy and stocking up matted with same sticky red liquid that stained the rest
of the room. Blood. He knew it was no use, but he reached out anyways and shook his father's leg. "Papa." His voice broke. "Papa, get up." Still no movement - a large red spot, looking black in the very center of his shirt, underneath his ribs, had
grown across his shirt growing lighter to red before it seemed to just stop. He was dead. His father was dead. He turned and glanced around the room, before freezing, tears falling now. Two legs were able to be glimpsed from his position. His mother...she
was lying on the other side of the bed, closest to the door.
He began walking over to the bed, everything seeming to slow; her words flowing through his mind with each heavy step he took. The sirens, he had failed to hear when he woke, were now growing louder.
Everything will be okay.
He noticed the sky was pass the afternoon, now bronze with various hues of orange and yellow.
Her sad but loving smile flashed in front of him.
His shoes made slight sloshing sounds, the floor squishing underneath them.
Stay in here.
He walked around the corner of the bed.
No matter what you hear...
She was lying on her back, legs splayed out, and arms at odd angles, one positioned where her hand rested on the other side of her head. Her dress bloodied and red with a similar red spot, looking black in the center, except it was on her stomach. Her
manicured nails chipped down to the pinkie and thumb.
Do not come out of here until all the noise has settled. Her thumbs had wiped away his tears.
He crouched down before crawling over the bloodstained carpet to her until he was by her shoulder.
Her hands had cupped his small face.
Her eyes, once beautiful and rich dark chocolate, were now staring listlessly up at the ceiling. No life was in them - no vibrant spirit of life.
He tried gently shaking her shoulder and her neck and head moved in motion with his gentle shakes, but she didn't respond. He tried harder, "Mother!" Her lips did not move in to give response.
Don't be afraid my darling. She'd kissed his forehead. She'd kissed him goodbye.
His tears fell uncontrollably. "No! Mother no!" He shook her harder and her head just flopped to the side, her eyes continuing to stare at nothing. "Mommy! Mommy please!" He screamed. "No goodbyes! Wake up! You promised! Mommy please!"
Everything will be alright.
The sirens were loud now and the lights flashed through the dim-lit room, drowning out the boy's screams. Any words that tried to escape his mouth were incoherent, as he buried his face into her blood-soaked dress. His face pressed against her chest as
he gripped one of her shoulders, wailing for her to wake up.
He didn't look up at the commotion outside which he couldn't hear over his screams. No, he just regretted his silence. He should have come out so the wouldn't leave him.
I promise.