The seven year old boy clad in black stood where he was, mute with horror. Horror had colored his innocent young face a chalky white, a screaming contrast to his raven hair. How had this happened? He, Father and his two brothers Ivan and Vincent had gone to hunt for food-only to return to their village destroyed by the Turks. He carefully avoided the burnt corpses and broken pottery to look for Mother. Then, he saw a bloody, burnt corpse that looked familiar-its ochre eyes..once so full of love...now cold and hollow...the hoop earrings and the ring on the third left finger –it belonged to:
Mother...It hardly looked like Mother at all. Her lovely auburn hair was singed and stuck to her half blackened skull. Blood and gristle lined the other half. Her simple yet pretty dress was soaked in blood and half-scorched at the sides. She was merely one of the many dead now.
The boy stared for what seemed like eternity. Then he began to scream, sending Father and his brothers running. When he could scream no more, he fell to the ground –and burst into tears. Father dropped the game he had caught earlier and cradled Mother as if she was just asleep. Ivan stood behind him, silent and numb with grief. Vincent sobbed along with his little brother. Father was sobbing so hard his great chest heaved with the effort. If only they had stayed behind...If only they defended the village...If only...So many if onlys...
Father wiped away his tears with one hand before burying Mother on a hill. He had not the heart to burn her again. He whispered some prayers before kissing her forehead-or what was left of it-, followed by the oldest-Vincent-, then Ivan and finally the youngest. However, before he could even touch it, several crows flew at the corpse, cawing. The boys tried to shoo them away but the crows flew at the corpse, pecking off several pieces-and pecking the hands of those who dared come between them and a meal.
One fell.The others took flight. All turned to see the youngest, holding a rock in his hand.
"They dared to touch Mother."
Normally, Father would tell him off for hurting God's creatures. Today though, was a different story. As Father placed Mother in the ground, the boy noticed something in the dead crow's beak: One of Mother's earrings. He gently picked it up and cleaned it on his sleeve. He decided to wear it in memory of Mother. And he would, with Father and Ivan and Vincent, avenge her-and the villagers-deaths.
"Let's go, Vladislaus."
Father said, patting the last pile of earth on Mother's grave.
He nodded-and followed.
