"Mother! I'm back!" I called as I walked into the doorway. I paused immediately…something wasn't right. It was that ominous feeling you get right before someone jumps over you. The darkness seemed to have claws and teeth tonight. I reached for the candle and match that we kept by the door. The candle was burned down to a tiny stub; soon we would have no more light at all. Carrying the food under the other arm, I walked around the half-burned house cautiously. I could see nothing out of the ordinary, but something still didn't feel right.
I ventured up the ruined stairs, trying to avoid the dingy places. This house had already been burned when we moved in and it was falling apart with each day. It had been better, though, than living on the streets.
I came to the bedroom. Mother was laying on the bed. At first, I thought she was just sleeping, so I placed the candle and the food on the night table and gently shook her.
"Mother, wake up! I have food!" I chirped excitedly. I remembered that I had eaten some of it on the way back and guiltily wondered if I should have waited.
She was so still.
I flipped her over to discover that she wasn't breathing. The smear of dark blood was now visible. Stunned, I let go of her and looked down at my hands. They shook violently in the candlelight.
I looked around the room, tears beginning to blur my vision. Things had been rummaged and drawers from the wrecked furniture were hanging open. There had been raiders here tonight.
My poor mother.
I tried to see if there was any way that I could still save her, still hopeful …. but it was too late. The corpse had already grown cold and was stiffening. While I was wading through the snow, making a tramp of myself, someone had killed her. The bitter irony of the situation sunk like a brick of lead in my stomach. It occurred to me that if she hadn't been safe here then I was definitely not safe. Shuddering, I cleaned off the blood and tied a bandage around her throat where the stab wound was. I rolled her up in the dirty quilt and carried her outside. It wasn't easy, but I took the very few possessions I had with me as well. Mother was so light in my arms that I couldn't even believe it had truly been her. The mother I remembered was strong and stubborn. I would bury her in the woods away from the grave robbers and other potential dangers.
"Don't worry," I sobbed, "I'll take care of you … I hope you understand that I was trying to help you…please forgive me…"
The awful reality set in as I began to dig with the rusty shovel. It took me a second trip to get it here, but I had run back this time. The wolves would be out soon and I didn't want them to…
The thought made me feel sick. Trying not to think about it, I slammed the shovel into the ground. It seemed as though the task took forever. I am not a physically strong person to begin with. Though my stomach was full tonight, I was still weak from days of starvation. I was trembling with exhaustion and grief. I collapsed onto the snow, grateful that the cold soothed my hot, burning face. It took every last ounce of strength I had to lay the last shovelful of dirt down.
I glanced around for anything that could serve as a grave marker. It appeared that a barrel had smashed against some nearby rocks … the smell of wine still lingered heavily in the air. I took a couple of pieces of wood and fashioned a pitiful excuse for a Christian cross. I didn't have any idea how long it would stay put.
The sound of a horse snorting made me flinch. I turned, wondering how was it possible that I hadn't noticed the intensifying range of light that surrounded me now. My weak little candle had finally given out at some point during the digging.
"What are you doing out here?"
I recognized the voice. I heard it sometime in the last couple of hours. He urged his horse closer and looked at the freshly disturbed earth, then at the "cross" and finally at me.
