What Does a Mother Do?

Kaya paused with her hand on the door. She caught a faint glimpse of herself in the reflection of the glass. Her umbrella was broken. Work clothes? They were clinging to her skin, grossly soaked. Lipstick? Smeared onto her cheek. Mascara? Faded, looking like it bled out her eyes. Her hand shook as she entered the key and swung the door open. Eyes tightly shut, to hold tears back.

A feeble attempt to see nothing in a house full of so much.

She stepped into the house and closed the door. Turning to the door her eyes opened slowly, not wanting to see it. The moon shone cruelly onto their photos. She gently ripped them off the wall. The memories were too painful to bear. Her heart was cut in half and lost to the seams of time.

Their once comforting couch was now cold. Cold for he’d never sit beside her again. She wrapped herself up in his now barren blanket. Barren for that he’d never occupy it beside her again. She grabbed his favorite toy which was now lifeless. Lifeless for that he’d never be here to give it life beside her again.

Uneasy tears rolled down her cheeks. She curled up with his blanket, and clutched his toy tightly, his picture pressed against her heart. That night she cried herself to sleep. She prayed that she could see him again in her dreams. Maybe say goodbye to her son this time.

~ ~ ~

Blasted awake by her work alarm, Kaya fell off the couch. She didn’t see her son last night. Again. It had been a week since he died and she had been living the same day seemingly on repeat. Wake up. Shower. Get ready for work. Eat. Leave. Work. Home. Rinse Repeat.

Again.

Again.

And again.

For the first two weeks, her boss would question her. Daily, she would receive calls from friends telling her to take a break, take a vacation, and stop. Her family kept insisting that she come to visit, or that they should come to visit her. Nobody thought she had adequately processed what happened.

She didn’t care. How was she supposed to move on? Her son had died. Her son was dead. She couldn’t move on, and she didn’t want to. And she wouldn’t let herself stop hurting. So any day she didn’t cry or hurt as much as the night before she would go into his room and find a new belonging of his and relive all the memories.

For Kaya time had slowed almost to a halt, and yet in reality it was flying by her. Lost in a meaningless loop for days. Days turned to weeks, weeks to months, and months turned into seasons, and before she knew it Summer had ended and Autumn appeared.

~ ~ ~

When there was nothing left in his room Kaya finally turned to the letter. It was an apology from the Deputy Sheriff’s Office. She had received it sometime in the summer but refused to open it. She didn’t want their apology, but now there was nothing left. Her only option was to either open it or stop mourning. She refused the latter. And so she broke the wax seal.

It was supposed to be a special day at school for her son. He was in 5th grade. It was Field Day. Kaya took her students out for the morning part of Field Day and when noon came around she brought them back inside the school building. On her way in, she remembers smiling at her boy as he played minigames carelessly with his friends.

Her son was older now. He was in 5th grade so he got to experience Field Day all school day, not just half the day. So while the younger kids were brought back into the building, he got to stay out.

Kaya was inside with her students watching a movie when it happened. She never knew the full details, but the letter filled in blanks she had been missing. It was the account of the rookie officer who was too outnumbered, far away, and inexperienced to handle the situation.

The kids outside were eating lunch when a trio of madmen came out of the woods onto them. Everything was in slow motion for a moment, and then the screams started. The men started yelling orders, but scared children don’t listen. They’re young, they don’t know, they don’t understand, and so they panic. The men too deranged to understand don’t know either, so they raised their guns to gather attention. Nobody noticed, but the teachers. But the teachers weren’t the ones running around manically. The teachers weren’t the ones out of control.

One bullet was all it took to silence it all out. One bullet and all the screeching kids hit the floor. One bullet and they were silent. One bullet and all the teachers gasped. One bullet and silently cried. One bullet and one child fell unlike the others. Just one bullet.