Prologue
{ Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
― W.B. Yeats, The Collected Poems }
There was a clap of thunder.
Or at least, I thought so.
As I ran excitedly to the window - hoping to see a flash of lightning, mother stopped me for the first time. With a grim expression, she took us down to the basement and shut the door, huddling us close.
There were no windows in the basement, so none of us could see what was happening outside, but it must be raining extremely heavy outside. There were no end to the sound of thunder - the deafening sound repeated itself over and over again, and it went on for a long time.
It was strange. Never had it rained so hard before, and we never had to go down to the basement when it was raining. The basement was a safe space - Momma had said. Did it mean that we had to stay in here to be safe from the roaring thunders outside?
BOOM!
There was a deafening crash, and the impact was so loud it brought my little sister to tears. As Momma struggled to stop her crying and comfort here, I couldn't help but wonder where did the sound come from. Was our house struck by lightning? If so, that would explain why Momma brought us down here to hide from the angry gods.
Suddenly, I realized something was missing.
"Momma, where's papa?"
There was a pause, a surprised look on Momma's face, as if I just caught her unguarded. As sister resumed her crying, Momma slipped out of it, hushed her, and turned back to face me.
The one lone light bulb in the basement swayed with the quakes, making shadows dance across her face as she tried to hold back the tears in her eyes, her lips pursed in a pained expression until she finally spoke, "He has gone to help the country, my dear." Another pause. Would you help me take care of your little brother and sister before he comes back?"
I have never seen Momma cry before. As I stared silently at her pleading face, I gulped, feeling a sense of dread rising in my veins.
"Yes, Momma."
She finally smiled.
"That's a good girl." She patted my head, as my little sister had finally stopped crying. We then sat in silence as the thunders outside continue to hammer on to no end.
"But… when is papa coming back?"
There was another crash, this time louder as the old bookshelf beside us tumbled onto the ground. Frightened, my little sister started crying again. Amongst all the crashing and cries, Momma's reply was almost too soft to hear.
"Soon, my dear." Momma replied, "Soon."
I was eight. And I never saw my papa again.