06-08-2020, 02:52 PM
The child is weary.
She is tired of all the walking.
Even more than that, she is tired of her mother telling her that it’s important.
The child loves her mother but she hates the walking. Even when her mother lets her lie down to sleep. Even when her mother tenderly kisses her head and says it’ll be all right in the morning. She’ll feel better after she rests.
She hates the walking and she’s beginning to confuse her hate for the walking with a hate for her mother. But the child is good and kind and decent, just like her parents, and she knows that hating her mother is wrong. So she never says it out loud. She just walks and walks and walks and cries sometimes. And her mother always kisses her head and says it’ll be all right. Not much further, it’ll be all right.
And it breaks Prayer’s heart, the crying. The way her child hates the walking. And still, she refuses to heal her because it is important and she wants the child to know how important it is. Just as all the walking they’d done to find Thorn had been important.
“I don’t want to meet anyone else,” the child says at one point and Prayer frowns but tries not to let the child see it. She shakes her head and says, “don’t say that.”
It is near Tephra that the child stops walking and shouts at the sky how much she hates it. The sky, the walking, her mother for making her do the walking, how much it hurts, how tired she is. But Prayer is patient and she kisses the child’s head and does not let it make her angry, too. She kisses the child’s head and says, “we’re almost there.”
And she tells the quiet soul who meets them at the border that they’re looking for Sabbath. They are given direction on where to find her and the two of them go, just a little bit further. And the child’s tears have dried by the time they find Sabbath and Prayer’s heartbeat gets to skittering as she surges forward. Because she, too, is a child who loves her mother.
“Mother!” she cries, beaming, all flooded with relief. And the child follows close behind and feels a sharp pang of jealousy because her mother loves someone else, too. Loves someone else like she loves her.
She is tired of all the walking.
Even more than that, she is tired of her mother telling her that it’s important.
The child loves her mother but she hates the walking. Even when her mother lets her lie down to sleep. Even when her mother tenderly kisses her head and says it’ll be all right in the morning. She’ll feel better after she rests.
She hates the walking and she’s beginning to confuse her hate for the walking with a hate for her mother. But the child is good and kind and decent, just like her parents, and she knows that hating her mother is wrong. So she never says it out loud. She just walks and walks and walks and cries sometimes. And her mother always kisses her head and says it’ll be all right. Not much further, it’ll be all right.
And it breaks Prayer’s heart, the crying. The way her child hates the walking. And still, she refuses to heal her because it is important and she wants the child to know how important it is. Just as all the walking they’d done to find Thorn had been important.
“I don’t want to meet anyone else,” the child says at one point and Prayer frowns but tries not to let the child see it. She shakes her head and says, “don’t say that.”
It is near Tephra that the child stops walking and shouts at the sky how much she hates it. The sky, the walking, her mother for making her do the walking, how much it hurts, how tired she is. But Prayer is patient and she kisses the child’s head and does not let it make her angry, too. She kisses the child’s head and says, “we’re almost there.”
And she tells the quiet soul who meets them at the border that they’re looking for Sabbath. They are given direction on where to find her and the two of them go, just a little bit further. And the child’s tears have dried by the time they find Sabbath and Prayer’s heartbeat gets to skittering as she surges forward. Because she, too, is a child who loves her mother.
“Mother!” she cries, beaming, all flooded with relief. And the child follows close behind and feels a sharp pang of jealousy because her mother loves someone else, too. Loves someone else like she loves her.
@[Sabbath]