Alright. Enough of that pathetic little sob story about poor, sad, little Martha. I'm sick of it. I hated being around friends. They tried to talk to me but I didn't want to listen. I wanted to pretend it wasn't happening, that I wasn't being hounded into a part of myself that I had never been before.
It's funny, though. When you are down there, so low that you are unable to believe that it was really happening, you begin to appreciate the little beautiful things. On the way home from lessons, I would stop to examine the wildflowers growing in the cracks of the pavement. Each petal was perfectly constructed, as if tiny elves had taken out their tools and carved into it, to make it the piece of art that it was. The colors would vary, some flowers being a vivid orange, others being a light pink. I would occasionally come across a stunning orange rose and would stop for a while, just to watch it.
I was just running home from a storm. The rain fell on me from all sides, draining my hair and dress of any life it had. Mama was in the kitchen, as she always was and she greeted me with a large cloth, helping me dry my hair off. Your eyes, though, they were dead. The usual light that shone in them had gone out and your shoulders were hunched. I asked you what was wrong and you told me.
"Martha, I just received a call from Frau Stiefel." You said slowly and sigh. "I was told that Moritz has… has tragically passed away."
I stare at you, stunned.
It makes sense. Sunday school, his absence, his jumpiness when I spoke to him.
"H-how did he pass, Mama?" My voice trembles.
"He was found in the west side of the forest, in a small clearing. It would appear that" You purse your lips. "He had killed himself."
"You can do that, Mama?" I ask, appalled. "You can really kill yourself?"
You look at me, suddenly terrified. "Yes, Martha, but I only happens to the ones truly lost." You suddenly run towards me, dropping to your knees in front, placing your hands on each shoulder. "Martha, listen to me. You don't ever need to think that. Never kill yourself, please. No matter what life, or your friends or even your father does to you!"
You suddenly stop, your hand clasped on your mouth and back away, rising to your feet.
"You- you know about that, Mama?" I ask, staring up at you.
You look at me now, your face almost angry. "I know a lot of things, Martha, as you might not have noticed, I'm not blind. Now if you will excuse me, we will have to prepare for Moritz's funeral, it is taking place on Saturday."
You stride out of the room, you head high and I almost feel like screaming.
You knew! You knew all along and you never did anything to try and save me!
At that moment, I wondered if I truly did have a mother.