1 Cataclysm

Uknown - “Sing the songs of veery and wren

when time tells sad stories again.

Feel for your worth with which we lend.

Give and take till ties rend.

There lie the bonds we bear and bend.”

My mother’s lullaby soothes my ears as I lay my head on her lap. Her stories and melodies warmed my chest like a campfire during a cold night, so despite the bumping of our carriage, my mother's gentle voice lets me sleep soundly.

My father guides our path, the light of a hanging lamp letting him see ahead. The soft orange glow of my mother's own light gives me courage against the strange, creeping shadows shifting among the trees of the forest. That bolstered courage wilts when faced with the sound of lightning every few seconds, as if the sky roars overhead.

My mother’s gaze eases these fears. Her emerald eyes and brown hair contrast wildly, like a green fairy flying in a forest. As she controls her voice, she cradles me in her melody with the rise and collapse of her song, making this sudden and strange journey easy as floating over oceans of silk.

As I lay half dreaming and half awake, my father stops the carriage with a whip of the reigns. He crawls into the carriage with the dim glow and his raven hair disguising his all to playful smile. My mother was so serious, and my father was as fun as a well told story. My mother always explained it as if they balanced each other out. I agreed.

In a leather vest and red cotton shirt, he whispers while bouncing his syllables in a slow, steady rhythm, “I see you finally got him to settle down. I almost dozed off just listening too.”

My mother whispers, blushing, “He needs his rest.”

He touches her cheek, “Come on, we could have some fun before he gets back up.”

She laughs while slapping his hand, playful as a girl, “Did you come just to tease me?”

“For that, and to see him sleep.”

“The travel is hard, but we’ll be fine.”

He smiles as he says, “Good. The woods are dangerous as a knife if we don’t watch ourselves. I wouldn’t want you two in danger, though our little one may scare a demon off with his wit if he tried hard enough.”

“No doubt you’ve tried more than once I bet.” She pauses for a moment before continuing. “Do you think Jack’ll like our new home?”

“Of course. Reebray is a town of culture. You know Jack's quite good at telling stories. He shall shine there.”

“I just get this bad feeling about the whole thing. It’s like we’re just running away.”

“We came here to offer him a better future.”

She bit her lip before saying, “I just don’t know if it’s as dangerous as you said it was. I know your family doesn’t like us, but up and leaving without warning... It just seems reckless.”

He roars like thunder, “They want my wife and child dead. They are no family of mine.”

I lift my head, surprised from my father’s yell while looking around. As my father leans his forehead on his hand, my mother glares, berating him with a seething disapproval.

After a tense moment, my mother continues her glare as she says, “Did your father wake you, dear?”

“I just need to go.”

When she looks down at me, her expression gentles. After stroking my cheek, She replies, “I’m sorry love. Your father lost himself is all. Don’t take too long now.”

As I jump out of the carriage, my father pats my back while saying, "Sorry about that son. Try not to let anything grab you while your out." My mother smacked his shoulder as he laughed. She couldn't help but grin as I said, "I'd be more scared of mom if I were you dad." I land on my heels, wobbling on my feet. The roar of thunder raises the hair across my skin, and I only reach twenty feet from the carriage before fear paralyzes me.

Howling winds scrape the branches of trees, shreiking like banshees stalking our carriage. The shadows from several trees splinter on the ground, looking like long, black veins. The carriage’s light shakes the shadows, as if the viens started pumping through the ground.

My composure snaps, so I sprint for my carriage fearing my own machinations, but as I close in, a blinding light cracks onto the carriage, rending it apart. The sound of shearing iron booms into my ears and a shockwave quakes the ground, convulsing my vision.

All goes dark. As I open my eyes, blazing fire devours our carriage. Lightning had struck our carraige. Without thinking, I dash towards the flames as my heart siphons strength into my limbs.

I open the carriage door and uncover my father splattered across the carriage with congealing blood that steams from every surface. His skin peels from his body like an exploding fruit. My stomach plunges.

Before that even sets in, I peer to my side, revealing my mother's side and leg squirting blood as her heart pumps her life from her veins. She still breaths, though they are shallow, weak breaths. I drag her from the carriage with all my strength. I gentle my movements when her skin adheres to my hands, like a squishy wet slime. As I pull her, she wheezes with pain, but I didn't know any other way to save her from the frenzied flames. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

The tears pouring from my mother's charred cheeks hurt me more than pulling a tooth, but I resolve myself. I must save her. Once I reach a spot on the ground safe from the fire, I lay her down with gentle, tender motions. In an explosion of motion, I bruise my heels against the ground as I sprint back toward the carriage.

Once there, I scramble amongst the flames, looking for something to help her. The fire started spreading, so heat blurs the air around me. The fire rages into an inferno as I search for something to save her. My scrambling transforms into a hysterical frenzy as the flames grasp and clamp the wood, igniting the planks of oak.

I collect the fox cloak my father gave me during my last birthday. As my chest heaves for air, I rip flint and steel from the searing wood and grasp my father's knife before a flame licks the side of my hand, too close for comfort.

I leap from the hellfire of the stage coach, bounding towards my mother as I land with pulsing steps. As I near her, she gasps for air with fragile breaths, but she stares with clear eyes full of composure and purpose. She says with a weak, raspy voice, “Come Jack. I need you to listen.”

I set the stuff I found beside her, focusing on her every word. She enchanted many nobles with her songs, yet after the fire burned her lungs, she no longer held the same voice. My eyes burn as my chest grows heavy with the gravity of the situation. My breathing turns to shallow and jagged choking.

Misery floods my frame. The light around me dampens as the situation sets in. My mother's in a pool of her own blood, her skin burned across her left side. The missing streaks of skin I tore earlier bleed streams of that blood. Most of her hair burned to nothing. She’s dying. She's already dead.

Before I unhinge, she shouts with a stoic voice booming with more life than her body could allow, “Stop crying already! You're thirteen years old!”

As she bores holes into my eyes with her own, my tears stop. Her sterness shocked me from my panic. She says with passion as her eyes soften, “Hear me. Remember how proud your father was of your courage?”

I wipe the tears from my eyes, nodding with my face wrinkling like a raisin. She continues, focusing my scattered thoughts, “Then you know how proud he is of you now. Don’t give up Jack. This life may give you a path covered in thorns, but you have to persevere. Can you do that Jack?”

I nod as burning water rolls down my cheeks. She smiles with dignity as she continues, “I don’t have much time left. I want you to know what this world has for you. I know my voice is gruesome, but will you listen to me one last time?”

I reply with utter sincerity, “Of course. I will never forget. This world will never forget. I will engrave the in my soul, and everyone will hear.”

As she looks upwards, she sings her final song. The notes delicately dance through the air. She radiates with her harmony healing my heart.

Her voice echoes through her time here, reciting simple pleasures. Her voice enchants my memory of this calamity. What was once a burned body is now a fallen angel, and in my eyes alone, she spreads the wings of her voice, endowing within me a strength unbreakable and unknown.

Her voice dies, returning me from the little shelter she gave at her last moments. Imbuing her last breath with a voice so loving, and so pure, she devotes bottomless strength into my very bones and marrow,

“We love you, Jack. Live a blessed life, my little angel.”

Her eyes close as she breaths her soul into the clouds. The stars above shine brightly as the sky and I weep at her passing. I clamp her hand, sobbing in the warm rain until only piercing silence greets me.

I heave myself from my knees, willing my body into motion. After collecting several of the remains of the carriage, I ignite a fire using the flint and steel. I near the flames using my father's cloak as a windbreak before I sing my mother's song into the forest.

I love and rely on her warmth, yet as I wander close to her memory, I risk searing to ash. The recollections lash at me as sorrow warps the image of my parents until only scathing demons remain. I void my thoughts until I float in my own self made oblivion, but before sorrow swallows me, inspiration ingnites my soul as I embrace my burdens. My memories give strength instead of misery. My wounds become power instead of weakness.

I gaze upwards at the moon and her children. My father and I spent many nights under this sight. I learned of harvest and hunt with his gentle guidance. He taught me with persistent patience. Now his cremation leaves nothing but cinders. But with his fury and fire, I forge ahead.

I serenade the songs my mother hymned and hummed for me as a child. She gave me a love for song with prose and poetry. She would chant with a fierceness left only for her craft. Impassioned by her design, I sing without restraint, yet she leaves a silent shell charred to powder. But With her grace and ease, I dance onward.

They left in me days of the past hued with roses and sun. I know of times uplifted by family and warmth. I refuse the whims of fate. I grit my teeth till they break. I will find the days of joy withheld from me. With their love and devotion, I will not go gently into this night. With their love and devotion, I will crush misery with might.