Amaranthine: Beauty Within Darkness

#IDRedo: The Night The Kittens Ran Free

When I think about childhood, I think about the night the kittens ran free.

All children learn at some point, along with the non-existence of Santa Claus, that there is no farm for their missing pets.

Death is a tricky subject to explain, no matter how old you are.

We rode in the car at the end of Autumn, the red-orange-yellow leaves matching my hair and the smell of apples and cider never far away. It was one of my favourite times of year.

Drives into the country were joyful. They were usually for fresh fruit and this one spectacular all-you-can-eat buffet dedicate wholly to perfecting the art of gluttony.

That night, the trip was a long one, bundled into our winter coats. I usually sang with the radio or animatedly told stories, the extrovert and the undeniable show-off of the family.

That night, I sat quietly as my mother drove in stony silence. My younger brother held a box of cute, squirming, biting kittens on his lap.

It happened after dinner. Something happened to trigger my father's rage, as it often did, and we moved off to our rooms like invisible shadows.

"If you don't get rid of the blasted kittens, I'll drown them in the sink myself. After a minute, they don't struggle anymore."

Of course, he didn't say blasted.

Every time someone breathed, a little cloud appeared in the air.

"Where are we going?" My brother's voice was the kind of impatient that six-year-old voices are.

"We're driving to a farm. It's time to set the kittens free."

My brother's voice erupted into tears. "No, it's not! They're little and soft and it's so cold. They'll die without someone to help them."

I won't ever forget the pleading and desperation in his voice. My tears were anger, hatred for a woman who'd leave tiny kittens in a field to freeze to death.

Why didn't she defend them?

"We can't take care of them anymore. Your father says no more kittens." My mother's voice wasn't consoling, just firm. She never was the warm, demonstrative type.

"But they'll freeze--" My brother clutched the box tightly to his chest.

"Just shut up, okay?" I wheeled around, tear-stained eyes glaring.

I hated everyone, and everything.

When we pulled over, I saw the tall stalks. It was wheat, corn, something farm-like. My mother pried the box from my brother's trembling hands

When she came back, there was no box and no kittens The accusing glare in my eyes told her I'd never forgive her.

I ignored the red-rimmed eyes, the black and blue circle around one side of her face, the arm bandaged under her jacket.

I never forgot the kittens. In my mind, there was always one, maybe two, who were smart and resilient. They'd figure out how to make it in a very cold world.

I still believe that.

She was a victim too.

I wish I could have told her I knew the truth before she died. I forgive her.

Author's Note: This story was the winning entry for the #IDRedo competition hosted by the very gifted GMTSchuilling .

I'd like to give a huge shout-out not just for all the support and positive feedback on this story from my readers and the host of this competition! I took the individual competition book down after a few months, though I was sad to lose the almost 100 reads, 25 comments, and all the people who cared enough to add this story to their libraries! I tend to not prefer the "create a book for every new short story" system, so I have this compilation book for all my past entries, winning or not.

Also, I got #OwlCrates as my prize!! Wooot, thank you, and happiness! <3