This is the first installment with more to follow. If you reproduce this anywhere, please credit the author (me: SK Keogh) and link to my Tumblr account where I'm also posting this: http://skkeogh.tumblr.com/ . I hope you enjoy it. (Apparently copying/pasting from a MS Word document here whacks out my paragraph indents, so this is block formatted. Sorry, if you are a formatting purist like me. )
ONE
Her raspy breathing had stopped somewhere in the night; the boy knew not when. To his shame, he had fallen asleep during his vigil. Had he awakened at the very moment of her death? Maybe she had waited for him to awaken before surrendering at last and passing on to whatever realm lay beyond this life. Her hand, still clasping his on the small pallet bed, quickly lost what little warmth had been there these last hours. As the cold seeped into her flesh he extricated his hand and wiped at the silent tears that trickled down his face.
He sat up on the edge of the bed. There was no light in their cell. Even during the day the only source of illumination was what managed to struggle down the five hundred foot shaft at the center of the subterranean prison. Sometimes they had a fire in the small brazier in the corner of their cell, but that barely gave off enough light by which to read. His eyes, however, accustomed to so much gloom since his birth, did not need sunlight or fire to see his mother now. Death’s veil paled her skin so that her face and hands seemed to glow, stealing her beauty. Although his mother was the only woman he had ever seen, he knew she must be the most beautiful of all those who lived in the world beyond theirs, like the princesses in the stories she recited to him. The other prisoners all said the same, though their words were not of flattery but of lust. Even in one as young as the boy he sensed the difference, knew it from the undercurrent of fear in which his mother lived lest those men somehow have access to her behind her protective bars. Now she no longer had to fear them or the hell in which she had lived. The boy tried to take comfort in such thoughts as he lay back down beside her, his tears trailing to his thin pillow, and waited for morning as around him the prison—for once—seemed to have fallen completely silent.
*****
A few hours later, in the hint of light that was known as dawn here in the depths, the doctor arrived. Already the prison was awake—men’s voices echoing against the rock walls, beyond the protective blankets that shielded the ragged boy and his mother from prisoners in adjacent cells, some even laughing harshly over something unknown, others cursing, others—those with little of their minds left—warming up to their daily ritual of wails. The boy was used to the sounds, of course; they were the fabric of this place as much as the dirt floors, stone walls, and iron bars.
The doctor’s gaze was upon the boy’s mother even before he put the key into the lock. He had blue eyes so pale that they had always mesmerized the boy. The doctor, too, was a prisoner, but by serving as physician to the two hundred condemned in the pit he received privileges from their jailer—better and more plentiful food and clothes, a larger cell with a comfortable bed and rugs, a seemingly endless supply of books to read, a small television, and fuel for his nightly fire to combat the earth’s relentless chill.
Once inside, the doctor diligently locked the door behind him before stepping over to the bed where the boy sat on the edge, tears spent, eyes puffy and irritated. The doctor offered a sympathetic frown as he settled next to him and briefly touched his shoulder.
“She is at peace now,” the doctor said. He took the blanket from the corpse and draped it around the shivering boy. “You must try to keep warm; that is what your mother would want you to do. No need for you to die of pneumonia, too.” He forced a smile before gesturing at the blankets that covered the bars. “After she is gone, we will take those down, but you may keep them; I will see that it is allowed. You will need the extra warmth now that you will have no one to share your bed.” The doctor winced at his own callousness. “I am sorry, my boy.”
“Where will they take her?” the child said near a whisper, the tears having made his throat sore.
“To the surface to be buried.”
“Where?”
“Not far from here.”
The boy faltered before he could ask the question he had been pondering among so many others during the long night. “What will become of me?”
The doctor sighed. “They said if your mother was to die…you would remain here.”
Although he had never been certain that he would willingly leave the pit—the only place he had ever known in life—without his mother, he now felt an overwhelming desire to do just that, to accompany her body to its final resting place then to walk off into the light. But what did a small boy born in darkness know of the world of light except what he had read in books and learned from the other prisoners? Perhaps he should take comfort in the doctor’s words, yet it was difficult when he thought of his mother’s dreams for him to one day escape the pit.
“After all,” the doctor echoed his thoughts, “where would you go if they set you free? You are just a boy, and what lies beyond this pit is little better, in truth, than what is here.”
“But my mother—”
“The man whose disfavor she incurred those years ago, the one who saw her into this place, still lives, and if he were to find out that you not only exist but that you were freed, he would find you and kill you. No, my boy, you are better off here in the shadows.”
“But you told my mother I would be able to leave, that you knew of someone who would take me—”
“I told her what a dying mother needed to hear to ease her passing.” His eyes had grown stern, leaving no room for argument. “Would you rather she had died with the fear of what would become of you here without her?”
Ashamed, the boy bowed his head and murmured, “No, sir.”
The doctor patted the boy’s thigh. “Of course not.” He stood. “Now…come with me. You can stay with me until they’ve taken her away.”
Reluctantly the boy stood, stiff and shivering even with the blanket around him, the blanket that held his mother’s comforting scent. From next to his pillow he picked up the stuffed bear she had given him—battered, patched, and loyal since his birth, his only playmate. He shuffled to the door where he paused to look back. If not for her blue pallor, he could believe she were merely sleeping, sleeping as she dreamed of the home that she had always imagined for them, a place of warm sunlight and love, a place where they could be reunited with his father.
ONE
Her raspy breathing had stopped somewhere in the night; the boy knew not when. To his shame, he had fallen asleep during his vigil. Had he awakened at the very moment of her death? Maybe she had waited for him to awaken before surrendering at last and passing on to whatever realm lay beyond this life. Her hand, still clasping his on the small pallet bed, quickly lost what little warmth had been there these last hours. As the cold seeped into her flesh he extricated his hand and wiped at the silent tears that trickled down his face.
He sat up on the edge of the bed. There was no light in their cell. Even during the day the only source of illumination was what managed to struggle down the five hundred foot shaft at the center of the subterranean prison. Sometimes they had a fire in the small brazier in the corner of their cell, but that barely gave off enough light by which to read. His eyes, however, accustomed to so much gloom since his birth, did not need sunlight or fire to see his mother now. Death’s veil paled her skin so that her face and hands seemed to glow, stealing her beauty. Although his mother was the only woman he had ever seen, he knew she must be the most beautiful of all those who lived in the world beyond theirs, like the princesses in the stories she recited to him. The other prisoners all said the same, though their words were not of flattery but of lust. Even in one as young as the boy he sensed the difference, knew it from the undercurrent of fear in which his mother lived lest those men somehow have access to her behind her protective bars. Now she no longer had to fear them or the hell in which she had lived. The boy tried to take comfort in such thoughts as he lay back down beside her, his tears trailing to his thin pillow, and waited for morning as around him the prison—for once—seemed to have fallen completely silent.
*****
A few hours later, in the hint of light that was known as dawn here in the depths, the doctor arrived. Already the prison was awake—men’s voices echoing against the rock walls, beyond the protective blankets that shielded the ragged boy and his mother from prisoners in adjacent cells, some even laughing harshly over something unknown, others cursing, others—those with little of their minds left—warming up to their daily ritual of wails. The boy was used to the sounds, of course; they were the fabric of this place as much as the dirt floors, stone walls, and iron bars.
The doctor’s gaze was upon the boy’s mother even before he put the key into the lock. He had blue eyes so pale that they had always mesmerized the boy. The doctor, too, was a prisoner, but by serving as physician to the two hundred condemned in the pit he received privileges from their jailer—better and more plentiful food and clothes, a larger cell with a comfortable bed and rugs, a seemingly endless supply of books to read, a small television, and fuel for his nightly fire to combat the earth’s relentless chill.
Once inside, the doctor diligently locked the door behind him before stepping over to the bed where the boy sat on the edge, tears spent, eyes puffy and irritated. The doctor offered a sympathetic frown as he settled next to him and briefly touched his shoulder.
“She is at peace now,” the doctor said. He took the blanket from the corpse and draped it around the shivering boy. “You must try to keep warm; that is what your mother would want you to do. No need for you to die of pneumonia, too.” He forced a smile before gesturing at the blankets that covered the bars. “After she is gone, we will take those down, but you may keep them; I will see that it is allowed. You will need the extra warmth now that you will have no one to share your bed.” The doctor winced at his own callousness. “I am sorry, my boy.”
“Where will they take her?” the child said near a whisper, the tears having made his throat sore.
“To the surface to be buried.”
“Where?”
“Not far from here.”
The boy faltered before he could ask the question he had been pondering among so many others during the long night. “What will become of me?”
The doctor sighed. “They said if your mother was to die…you would remain here.”
Although he had never been certain that he would willingly leave the pit—the only place he had ever known in life—without his mother, he now felt an overwhelming desire to do just that, to accompany her body to its final resting place then to walk off into the light. But what did a small boy born in darkness know of the world of light except what he had read in books and learned from the other prisoners? Perhaps he should take comfort in the doctor’s words, yet it was difficult when he thought of his mother’s dreams for him to one day escape the pit.
“After all,” the doctor echoed his thoughts, “where would you go if they set you free? You are just a boy, and what lies beyond this pit is little better, in truth, than what is here.”
“But my mother—”
“The man whose disfavor she incurred those years ago, the one who saw her into this place, still lives, and if he were to find out that you not only exist but that you were freed, he would find you and kill you. No, my boy, you are better off here in the shadows.”
“But you told my mother I would be able to leave, that you knew of someone who would take me—”
“I told her what a dying mother needed to hear to ease her passing.” His eyes had grown stern, leaving no room for argument. “Would you rather she had died with the fear of what would become of you here without her?”
Ashamed, the boy bowed his head and murmured, “No, sir.”
The doctor patted the boy’s thigh. “Of course not.” He stood. “Now…come with me. You can stay with me until they’ve taken her away.”
Reluctantly the boy stood, stiff and shivering even with the blanket around him, the blanket that held his mother’s comforting scent. From next to his pillow he picked up the stuffed bear she had given him—battered, patched, and loyal since his birth, his only playmate. He shuffled to the door where he paused to look back. If not for her blue pallor, he could believe she were merely sleeping, sleeping as she dreamed of the home that she had always imagined for them, a place of warm sunlight and love, a place where they could be reunited with his father.
Last edited by Baniac on October 24th, 2012, 10:31 pm, edited 1 time in total.
My Bane origins saga: http://www.nolanfans.com/forums/viewtop ... 16&t=11993