"May God have mercy on your soul, Larisa Nadya Chekov, and may He ease the suffering of those who loved you deeply. In the name of the Father, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, amen."

To Pavel, it seemed that those words had completely taken his mother from this earth. His gaze drifted to his mother's grave, a rectangular hole in which a simple wooden coffin lay. She was in there, and no matter how much of a dream Pavel wanted to think he was in, she was going to stare there for the rest of eternity. He felt his eyes sting for the first time since she had died.

"Be strong, miliy moy."

That was the last thing she would ever say to him, and he had tried to adhere to it. Yet, as the realization that she was gone forever set in, he couldn't hold back the crying any longer. He bit his lip as hot tears streamed down both sides of his face. Gone forever. A phrase that was nearly impossible for him to comprehend, and yet, he was experiencing it.

"Andrei... Would you like to say a few words?"

Pavel looked up and saw the priest standing next to his father. He was gesturing towards his mother's grave with a hand that held the Bible. His father's expression was stern, as it had been during the entire short ceremony. Pavel's father shook his head and turned away. The priest then came up and knelt next to Pavel. "And you, Pavel? Would you like to say anything?"

The seven-year-old had forced his tears to stop and took a shuddering breath. He nodded shakily as he took a few steps closer to his mother's grave, staring in at the coffin. A small cross was painted on the top, and 'Larisa Nadya Chekov' was written in a small script at the bottom. He stared blankly, trying to think of all the words he could say, but nothing seemed sufficient. He looked around, feeling somewhat pressured. His father still had his back turned and his fists clenched. The graveyard's owner had his head bowed, perhaps in prayer. The priest looked at Pavel and gestured towards his mother's coffin once more.

Pavel then spotted a small flower growing next to his foot. It was a little white daisy, no bigger than a quarter. He bent down and pulled it out of the ground. They were his mother's favorites.

"Mama, which flowers do you like the best?"

"I rather like them all, Pavel."

"But which ones are your favorites?"

Pause.

"The little white daisies that grow everywhere. They're so simple and beautiful."

"Then I'll get you some of those."

He could see the conversation vividly in his mind – His mother was washing dishes, and he was standing on a box, helping to dry them. It was sunset, and the rays were coming in through the kitchen window. It made her curly brown hair seem lighter and her eyes sparkle. He could see her sweet smile as he promised to get her the flowers she loved. He could see her red apron over her light green dress that perfectly matched her eyes. He would never forget any of it.

Pavel looked at his father. "Papa?" He called. His father turned and looked at him. "Papa... Will you please come say goodbye?"

"No, Pavel." His father's voice was stern and serious. He turned back around so Pavel couldn't see him. Slightly heartbroken that his father wouldn't come say goodbye, Pavel turned to his mother's grave again. The image of her smiling face came to his mind, and a single tear rolled down his cheek.

This was really his final goodbye.

Pavel dropped the flower on top of the coffin. "G-goodbye, mama," he choked. Suddenly, he couldn't contain himself. He began to spout every thought that came to his mind without thinking. "I'll never forget the games we would play, or when you would tell me how much you loved me, or when you would make my favorite dinner, or when you would tell me stories about princes and knights and princesses and magic and-" The boy felt the priest's hand on his shoulder. Pavel had been speaking Russian the entire time, but perhaps the priest understood what he was saying from the way he was saying it.

"I'll never forget you, Mama. I love you."

Pavel held back tears as he turned away from the grave, hoping his final goodbye was enough. He slowly walked away, towards the black car that his father was already sitting in. Pavel turned back once more and looked as the owner of the graveyard shoveled dirt unto his mother's coffin. He noticed how the sun was peeking through the trees, seeming to light up her grave. He then turned back around and continued to walk to the car. He opened the back door and sat down, folding his hands in his lap.

Pavel looked at the window and saw his reflection. He was the average height of a seven-year-old, but very thin. His curly mop of brown hair was uncontrollable, as it always was, even when he tried to look his best for the funeral. His cheeks were a little red from the tears, but his blue eyes looked normal.

His father hadn't acknowledged him; he simply began to drive away as his son looked out the window. Pavel was used to this type of treatment. He knew his father didn't like him. He simply neglected him, barely speaking to him or looking at him. His mother, however, thought the world of Pavel, spending almost every free moment with him. She taught him almost everything he had learned outside of the classroom..

It suddenly struck Pavel that she would no longer be there to comfort him.

From scraped knees to teasing at school, his mother was the one who he would come to. When he was younger, he would hold onto her for hours he cried and then fell asleep, while his mother spoke to him with soothing words and sometimes sang to him. As he got older, he no longer cried with her, but instead sat with her and talked to her, and she would always listen intently and remind him to stay strong.

It was by strength, she said, that he could accomplish anything. She told him that it was strength that had allowed them to leave Russia when he was three in hopes of making a better life in America. Was there anything wrong with Russia? No, of course not. But his father had grown tired of it and wanted to move to America, where the technology far surpassed that of anywhere else. And so through their strength they had left the home they knew and loved and went instead to a place they didn't know at all. But strength kept them going.

Pavel was so caught up in memories of his mother that he hadn't noticed that the car was stopped. He focused on the view from his window and saw that he was home. He looked at the empty passenger seat, wondering how long he had been sitting there. Pavel opened the car door and stared at his house. It was a little on the small side, one-story with two bedrooms, but it was home. Like the entire city, it didn't have the most efficient technology, and most of it was outdated. However, it worked fine. He hit the code '4374' on the number pad outside the door and it unlocked for him. He heard laughter and turned around, curious.

Some children, some his age, some younger and older, were playing. He recognized a few from his school, but he wouldn't call any of them his friends. Pavel was two years ahead in his classes, in addition to already being small for his age, which made him the perfect target for ridicule. Although his Russian accent wasn't very noticeable anymore, his speech impediment – his trouble pronouncing words English 'V's - also earned him a spot on the bully's list. One boy waved to him.

"Hey, Pavel, you should play with us!" He called. Pavel didn't know his name; he was a year behind him.

"Dummy, his mom just died!" Another boy said, punching the first. He looked at Pavel. "Jason's stupid, sorry about him!"

The first boy looked embarrassed. "Oh, I'm, um, really sorry, Pavel, I am really stupid-"

"Just stop talking! You're making it worse!" The second boy punched him again.

"Guys, come on! Let's go play!"

"Okay, um, one second." The second boy left and the first looked back at Pavel. "I'm really, really sorry, but if you ever feel better, you should come play... Okay, bye..." He ran off to catch up with his friends.

Pavel felt another wave of sadness wash over him as he slowly walked through the house, seeing the kitchen, bathroom, living room and dining room from the front door. He looked down the hall to his own room, opposite of the room his parents once shared, and decided to go there and sit, maybe cry. He didn't know exactly what to do now. He didn't feel like playing, there was no schoolwork or housework for him to do-

Pavel's thoughts were interrupted by a very firm grip on his shoulder. He was turned around at an alarmingly fast pace, then facing his father, who looked the same as before - stern. His father then grasped bother shoulders and drew Pavel's face up to his own. He and his father shared the same eyes, but his father had very short, dark brown hair and a small mustache. His chin was pointy, like his nose, and his eyebrows always made him look annoyed. Pavel, familiar with the odor, thought he could smell alcohol on his breath.

"You," he growled, "acted like a complete child earlier."

Pavel bit his lip, not knowing what to say.

"Do you have anything to say, Pavel?"

He trembled. What was he supposed to do? He couldn't think of anything to say, he barely knew what his father was talking about.

"Damn it, Pavel!" His father smacked him across the face so hard and unexpectedly that Pavel was knocked to the floor. "I don't care what happens to you, you will act like a man from now on! And men, Pavel, aren't weak! They do not cry!"

Pavel got to his knees, his body shaking. His father's voice had always instilled fear in him; but his yelling made him more frightened than anything. However, he didn't feel any fear as his father yelled at him this time. He simply felt anger. Pavel stood up.

"At least I showed I cared!" He shouted.

His father's teeth clenched as he slapped Pavel a second time; fortunately for the boy, he was much more ready for it and able to keep his balance.

"I didn't show that I cared because I didn't care!" He roared. "And you shouldn't have cared either!"

Pavel looked at his father in disbelief.

He didn't care. He didn't want Pavel to care. Those words stung him more than any slap ever could. His breathing became shaky; he didn't know what to do. Pavel quickly turned around and ran to his room, slamming the door. He turned the look fiercely and he then sank to the floor and curled himself up into a ball, sobbing.

Nothing was fair. His mother shouldn't have gotten sick and died. His father should have cared about his mother; his father should have loved his mother; his father should have loved him. He should have been able to go play with the boys that didn't tease him. He shouldn't be an abnormally smart, small seven-year-old that was now motherless and being forced to mature. If his father's idea of being a man was becoming like him, then Pavel never wanted to become a man.

His face began to sting with pain. Pavel had experienced it once before, but his mother had been there to comfort him.

It was only a few months ago. It was late, and Pavel had already gone to bed when the screaming awoke him. His parents fought often, but never quite like this. Curious, he had climbed out of bed and quietly opened his door. He saw his mother and father yelling at each other in the kitchen. His father's back was to him, but he could see his mother; it looked like she had been crying.

"You could at least acknowledge him, Andrei! You don't have to pretend like he doesn't exist! He's half of you! You never speak to him, you never look at him, you neglect your own son!"

"I told you before; I didn't want another son!" Pavel saw his mother's face turn from anguish to disbelief. There was a brief pause as she struggled for words.

"Andrei... You neglect the one son you have because your first son didn't live past two weeks? That's why you don't... You can't... What is wrong with you? You're living in the past! Dimitri died ten years ago! He isn't a part of our lives anymore! I can't believe that you don't love the only son you have because the first son you had isn't alive anymore! I lost him too!" Pavel's mother was sobbing – a sight that Pavel himself hated to see. He stepped out of his room slowly.

"Mama?" He called quietly.

"Pavel... Pavel, go back to bed..." His mother said, wiping her tears away.

Pavel ignored her request and took a few steps towards her. "Mama, are you okay?"

His father turned to him, with a look of rage Pavel had never seen before. As his father took a few steps toward him out of anger, he took a few steps back out of fear.

"She told you to go to bed, Pavel!" He yelled, smacking him. Pavel's face hit the wall and he struggled to remain balanced. Ultimately, he fell on to his back His father looked not only enraged, but also slightly disoriented. He thought he smelled alcohol, but he didn't know if his mind was forcing him to smell it of it was really there. His father raised his hand again, and Pavel covered his face. "You never listen, you brat-"

"DON'T YOU TOUCH HIM!" His mother screamed, running next to him. She knelt to the floor and grabbed Pavel into a tight embrace, placing his head between her neck and shoulders.

"You treat him like a child!" His father roared.

"He is seven years old, Andrei, he is a child!" His mother screamed back.

"It's time he grew up!"

Pavel could hear his father open the door and leave the house. His mother stood up, keeping Pavel in the tight embrace she had held him in when he was younger. He was too frightened to move. She opened the door to his room and sat down on the bed, gently rocking him back and forth as she began to cry.

"Mama?" He asked quietly after a few minutes.

"What, miliy moy?" She responded through sobs.

"Mama... Does Papa really not love me?"

His mother began to cry harder.

"Oh, Pavel... Oh, Pavel... I love you more than you could ever imagine. I will always love you. I will always be proud of you. You are everything to me, Pavel... I love you, miliy moy..."

She didn't answer his question, but Pavel had decided not to ask again. She stayed with him until he fell asleep; and his father did not return for a week. He had no idea what had happened and had decided not to ask, but in order to make sure that never happened again, he decided that he would try and 'grow up'. Pavel hated remembering that night.

He stood up from the door, wiping his running nose. He couldn't hear his father; he assumed he was either drinking or sleeping. Pavel turned off his light and climbed into his bed, looking out his window into space. He and his mother used to look at the stars together, giving them names and imagining what they were like up close.

Pavel cried himself to sleep that night.

NB: Wow. Thank y'all for reading and reviewing (and if you're reading and not reviewing, I'd appriciate it if you dropped me a line, thanks ;]) and liking this story. Sorry it's a bit depressing, but that's the point. Let me know what I can do better. This chapter turned out okay, I was hoping it would be longer, but there wasn't anything else to add. The next chapter will probably be longer, probably be just as depressing, and probably take me a little longer to turn out. So don't go away ;] - xo Ronnie