I stared down at my son's body. A million thoughts ran through my mind; of
my hours of painful labor, how I had held his tiny body in my arms and
cried for my exhaustion and my overwhelming love. No tears came now, only
desolation. My Cedric. My beautiful little boy now had hollow eyes and
parted lips, and Amos' tears were streaking the smooth expanse of his face.
My Cedric. My beautiful little boy who was born through struggle and
cherished so very much. My husband sobbed on his chest, but I stood, my
hand held over my heart, as if I could transfer the love in it to him and
awaken his eyes. My beautiful little boy, with his rosy cheeks and blue-
grey eyes and sweep of mahogany hair. Dead?
I could not breathe, there was no life left in me. My son had taken my life, just as he had stolen my heart all those seventeen years ago, as I had held him to my breast and just loved him. Amos had cried then, too, of joy and hope and pride, all directed at his infant son. I had worried that this tournament would be the death of him, no matter what new security measures he assured me were in place. And now my worst fears have been harnessed to reality, spreading out from the deepest, darkest and barest components of my imagination. This, seeing his body, is a thousand times worse than I ever could have imagined it. My Cedric, with his strong chest and beating heart and life of movement, and there was suddenly no pulsating motion, only stillness. Stillness, broken by my husband's sobs and my own ragged breathing and the sound of footsteps, in another world.
I felt the warmth of hands brushing my side, as the people they belonged to jostled past, eager to see a body, a corpse, and the endless victory of death over life. I could not stand to look at either the crowd's horrendous exhilaration or the body of my only offspring, my only dream, lying dead. Yet, I could not look away... His hand was now hanging limply by his side, while the blood beneath it stilled. I could see the snitch flying out of his hand, but he could not make an effort to catch it. Oh Ced, don't let it get away.
The screams pushed their way into my mind, and I heard the pounding of a generation's discovery, a discovery that would unravel into the beginning of the next struggle of good and evil, or perchance humanity and indifference. Though I did not know it, Cedric was not the first or the last. He came after the prologue, but before the true introduction, so to speak, and his name would be forever mentioned as the first casualty, the first real loss, marking the beginning of the second wave of the Great War.
I wondered if those assembled were shocked or stunned, scared or saddened. For a brief second I wanted to hurt them all, in retribution for the pain they had not caused. The pain that would perhaps never go away, I thought, that I would carry in my heart as my body and mind rotted around it. I would gladly have been in that rotting body at that moment. I think I would have given anything to have his laughter once again encase me, as his arms so often had.
His arms were spread out from his body at this point. It looked as if he were playing the game he had used to play as a little boy, where he fell back down onto his freshly made bed to see if he could keep from catching himself. He never could still his reflexes, though when I turned around he would always have his arms extended to trick me. And I always pretended that he had fallen freely, even when I saw him moving out of the corner of my eye. On a small scale, I guess, it was a game of daring and recklessness that he never won. Perhaps it was a sign of what was to come. Sometimes, when I am filled with regret, I wish that I'd taught him not to tempt luck. This time, I knew it was fate he'd lost to, fate that had caught him.
Over and over that night I felt my heart breaking, as I struggled to hold onto an old reality that was quickly losing ground. Maybe the only imperfection that Cedric ever had was his mortality. I had once praised the fact that I too was mortal so that I would never have to lose him. Now I think I might as well have been immortal, if this torture is what my mortal prayers have brought me. I would have cursed God, had I been able to feel anything but devastating anguish.
And still, only emptiness was left in Cedric's eyes, and Amos's howls were filled with the stark contrast between enduring love and the loneliness of losing the entirety of it. My own mind was quickly emptying, staving off the pain in a fit of desperation, so as not to acutely feel the loss of my son, but rather have the hollow feeling of nothing...just nothing. When I look back, I know what I lost that night, what left me that June evening: Not only Cedric, but my love and my life.
I could not breathe, there was no life left in me. My son had taken my life, just as he had stolen my heart all those seventeen years ago, as I had held him to my breast and just loved him. Amos had cried then, too, of joy and hope and pride, all directed at his infant son. I had worried that this tournament would be the death of him, no matter what new security measures he assured me were in place. And now my worst fears have been harnessed to reality, spreading out from the deepest, darkest and barest components of my imagination. This, seeing his body, is a thousand times worse than I ever could have imagined it. My Cedric, with his strong chest and beating heart and life of movement, and there was suddenly no pulsating motion, only stillness. Stillness, broken by my husband's sobs and my own ragged breathing and the sound of footsteps, in another world.
I felt the warmth of hands brushing my side, as the people they belonged to jostled past, eager to see a body, a corpse, and the endless victory of death over life. I could not stand to look at either the crowd's horrendous exhilaration or the body of my only offspring, my only dream, lying dead. Yet, I could not look away... His hand was now hanging limply by his side, while the blood beneath it stilled. I could see the snitch flying out of his hand, but he could not make an effort to catch it. Oh Ced, don't let it get away.
The screams pushed their way into my mind, and I heard the pounding of a generation's discovery, a discovery that would unravel into the beginning of the next struggle of good and evil, or perchance humanity and indifference. Though I did not know it, Cedric was not the first or the last. He came after the prologue, but before the true introduction, so to speak, and his name would be forever mentioned as the first casualty, the first real loss, marking the beginning of the second wave of the Great War.
I wondered if those assembled were shocked or stunned, scared or saddened. For a brief second I wanted to hurt them all, in retribution for the pain they had not caused. The pain that would perhaps never go away, I thought, that I would carry in my heart as my body and mind rotted around it. I would gladly have been in that rotting body at that moment. I think I would have given anything to have his laughter once again encase me, as his arms so often had.
His arms were spread out from his body at this point. It looked as if he were playing the game he had used to play as a little boy, where he fell back down onto his freshly made bed to see if he could keep from catching himself. He never could still his reflexes, though when I turned around he would always have his arms extended to trick me. And I always pretended that he had fallen freely, even when I saw him moving out of the corner of my eye. On a small scale, I guess, it was a game of daring and recklessness that he never won. Perhaps it was a sign of what was to come. Sometimes, when I am filled with regret, I wish that I'd taught him not to tempt luck. This time, I knew it was fate he'd lost to, fate that had caught him.
Over and over that night I felt my heart breaking, as I struggled to hold onto an old reality that was quickly losing ground. Maybe the only imperfection that Cedric ever had was his mortality. I had once praised the fact that I too was mortal so that I would never have to lose him. Now I think I might as well have been immortal, if this torture is what my mortal prayers have brought me. I would have cursed God, had I been able to feel anything but devastating anguish.
And still, only emptiness was left in Cedric's eyes, and Amos's howls were filled with the stark contrast between enduring love and the loneliness of losing the entirety of it. My own mind was quickly emptying, staving off the pain in a fit of desperation, so as not to acutely feel the loss of my son, but rather have the hollow feeling of nothing...just nothing. When I look back, I know what I lost that night, what left me that June evening: Not only Cedric, but my love and my life.