Short Stories

Cold

I am sure, I think, as I watch her shiver in the cold winter waters.

I am sure, I believe, as I watch her hesitantly remove her bundle from her chest.

I am sure, I hope, as I watch her set her teeth, grim determination flooding her eyes.

I am sure, I breathe, as I watch her arm, bare to the frigid onslaught of the wind, curling instinctively around the grey bundle.

I am sure, I murmur, eyes widening, as I watch the bundle touch that writhing, merciless flow.

I am sure, I choke, as I watch the icy inferno burn her hands blue, tearing through the tender warmth of love and care, ripping in shreds the throbbing bond between mother and child, hurling the broken pieces far away... too far to ever retrieve again.

Leaving bare a blue shell.

I... was sure, I think, dazed, as I watch hot springs bubble past her fractured heart to trail down frostbitten cheeks, uncontrollable, inconsolable. Searing in their intensity, burning blue skin red, dropping steadily into the water... reaching, in vain, to restore warmth to those frozen lips, those cold fingers, that still heart.

The restless river snatches them away.

(Inspired by the poem "Limbo", written by Seamus Heaney)