The sun was a blood red disc as it rose slowly upon the sky. Some of the poorer families lived on the outskirts of Jerusalem, where they grew edible plants with which to supplement their meager larders. A number of women would venture out into the cold dawn just as the sun came up so that they could till the soil and plant some extra stalks of wheat where they would be able to sell them on the market. Meat and cheeses were luxuries but fish and olives were just as filling.
Mary liked to plant new seedlings in the dawn; that was when the weather would not get too hot and she could see the morning dew shine upon the thorny bushes that lined the outskirts of her small cottage. Her old, callused hands dug into the soil as she stooped over and placed a fresh seed into the brown earth. Mary remembered what had happened a few days before as a single tear came down her eye.
Her son, her beloved son was taken away from her. As a mother she felt that she had lost the last hope of her life. Many years ago her husband Joseph had died as well and she was alone now. She had been a widow for many years and now, another tragedy had occurred. When one lost a husband then one would be called a widow, if a child loses his parents then he is called an orphan. But what of the mother who loses her only child, was there ever a name for that?
As the acceptance of fate washed over her, Mary felt blessed and warm; her very being was all the richer because of it. The frustrations and despair that wracked her soul throughout the ordeal with the execution of her son had at last gone away; her body and soul was at peace now. She did not curse them for condemning her son. She had neither the rage nor the will to hate anyone. She had gone past that now. Mary had decided to live day by day; it would be the little tasks that would help her through with the remainder of her life. She needed to go on.
When the last seedling was planted, Mary straightened up her old, tired body and began shuffling back to her hut. Day after day she would prune and care for the little bushels of roses around the garden of her abode, she wanted it to be pretty despite the fact that it was just a hovel so that even the lowliest of visitors would feel a tinge of joy when they saw the blooming red petals. How she was proud of her little cottage.
As Mary ventured through the doorway, she realized that she forgot to open the wooden shutters to let the sun shine in. As she slowly walked over towards where the small window was located, she had a felling of another presence within the room. Looking around, she noticed an outline of a figure close by her little cot, its full features partly hidden in shadow.
"Hello." Mary greeted the figure.
A soft moan emanated from the form as it shambled slowly towards her. As the figure made its way closer and began to reveal itself in the morning light as it crossed the threshold, the first thing she noticed was that the figure's bare feet was shriveled and blackened. When the form stopped just as its pale, emaciated legs could be seen from the open doorsill, she immediately realized who it was.
Tears of relief trickled down her wrinkled cheeks. "You have come back to me." She said softly.
Mary quickly crossed over to where it was and knelt down as she wrapped her arms around the shriveled legs. The stench was somewhat vile but it no longer mattered to her now. The skin was cold and withered to the touch but she could feel the life within it.
Feeling the shrunken folds of skin on the figure's hands, Mary noticed that the circular brown holes on the deathly white wrists were still there. Nothing else mattered now. Everything was back to where it was again; a part of her life that had been torn away from her was returned.
"I knew you would come back to me." Mary smiled as she held on tightly.
THE END.