September 17, 2013

  • Mercy

    The figure stood draped in radiant, ivory folds of silk that fell to the ground. The face was soft and feminine and held two stark sapphire eyes. With a delicate hand, she reached down to the disheveled looking creature at her feet. Tattered rags clung to the flesh of a small child. Blood dripped from its wounds and polluted the pure white of the ground. Its terror filled eyes looked up in silence, begging and pleading. It was curled in a fetal position and rocking itself gently. It wished for its life. It wished for an escape from its torture. It wished for a release from its pain. The figure leaned down and offered the thing a hand. It whimpered and eyed the offer suspiciously. After several moments, the tiny hand covered in dirt and decay reached up. Maybe this time it would be saved. Maybe this time it would be safe.

    As the warmth of the pale hands enveloped the tiny frozen fingers, they both shivered at the exposure of opposite extremes. The tall figure felt a deep cold for the first time, and the child hungrily drew the heat in, grabbing the source with both hands. In that desperate grasp, a rush of emotion overtook the woman, and that perfect posture bowed in submission to the experience. She wrapped her arms around the dirty, pale faced, blue-eyed little girl. It started slow as soundless tears streamed down their cheeks. They clung to each other. The sobs grew deeper and louder. Their bodies shook as they mourned the loss of their innocence and ignorance. The broken child dared to pull away and meet the shimmering eyes of the gentle, delicate figure. As she fell into the gaze of the woman, the quiet slowed her shaking, and clarity overcame her – her pain was over. A heavy burden settled upon the woman as she leaned down and brought the girl back into her arms and cradled her as one would an infant. She began to hum a soothing tune, rocking the child back and forth and back and forth. The child’s eyes grew heavy. Whispers of sleep escaped her lips.

    Silent stinging tears stole the woman’s breath as she laid a gentle kiss on the child’s forehead. For a brief moment, the silence broke. The child’s neck sat twisted in an unnatural fashion and her head hung as limp as the rest of her tiny body. The warmth seeped from her skin, yet the look on her face was peaceful. The woman laid the body on the white ground and watched as it faded from sight. She closed her eyes, clasping on to the memory of the girl as tightly as the emotions clutching at her heart. With a tear stained face, sullied robes and cold, bloody hands, she stood up straight. The human stain would change her, but never again would she succumb.

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