Of Illnesses And Antidotes

Prologue

  "Happy birthday, darling," she whispers into my ear. Her heavy breaths tickle the hairs on the nape of my neck, sending a shiver down the back of my spine. "Now blow out your candles."

In five short puffs, the amber flames licking at the wax fingers vanish into thin air, leaving behind silky wisps of smoke that billow up into the atmosphere. Looking up, I beam at the couple knelt in front of me. His arm snakes around her neck and her head gently rests on his shoulder, her chocolate curls cascading down her cheeks. He reaches out with his free arm to take my hand, squeezing it softly, whispering in a comforting voice,

"We love you, Naomi. Mama and Papa love you so very much."

Falling into their arms, I wrap one arm around each of their necks, my fingertips brushing against each other when they meet in the middle. Pressing my lips against his cheek and then her cheek, I say to them,

"I love you too."

We remain in a tight embrace for a moment or two, just the three of us, entwined together like three strands of hair tied into a braid. When we break apart, Mama pulls the plate over and gives me a wobbly smile. Her trembling hand grasps the knife and it shakily slices through the honey sponge, dissecting it into three small, oddly shaped pieces. Our ravenous appetites soon devour them. Tiny crumbs strewn over the wooden floorboards serve as a reminder of this morning's events, implanting a lasting memory into my mind. One that I hoped to treasure forever.

"We have something for you, darling."

Looking up at them, I notice a crumpled, brown paper parcel clutched in their hands, a ragged piece of string bandaged around it to keep the paper in place. Gently, I take it from their grasp and place it down on the floor in front of me. My eyes wander over it, intrigued by its peculiar shape. Something I have never seen before. I grin.

Tentatively, my fingers ease the string out of its knot. The strand falls limply to the ground and I pull the layers of brown paper off the packaged item, unwinding it like a roll of tape. My eyes widen in amazement. On the ground before me, glinting in the rays of early morning sunlight, is a silver oval pendant affixed to a silver chain. Sliding two fingers underneath the chain, I raise it into the air and admire its beauty.

"Look inside," Mama encourages softly.

Resting the pendant in the palm of my hand, I unhook the hasp and let half of the oval swing back on its diminutive hinge. Neatly squeezed into the two miniature frames are two tiny pictures: one of her and one of him. My face lights up. I glance up to them, my eyes shining.

"Happy birthday, Naomi," she whispers for the second time today. For the last time today.

Bang. Bang. Bang. At the door.

"We know you're in there. Open up!" an angry voice shouts. I whimper.

Papa scrambles to his feet and dashes off towards the back door. He pauses, his hand wavering beside the doorknob. Turning around briefly, he mouths something to Mama that causes a tear to slip down her cheek. Flinging the door open, he steals away into the morning darkness shrouding the outside. I look up to her.

"Why are you sad?"

Bang. Bang. Bang.

She smiles at me, brushing the tears out of her eyes. "I'm not sad."

"Then why are you crying?" I ask, puzzled.

Suddenly, a thunderous bang ricochets off the hollow walls. Spinning around in a blind panic, my eyes are overwhelmed with a throng of angry men storming into the room. Large rifles are slung over their shoulders and black helmets painted with white numbers are strapped over their heads. Their faces are red with rage.