Nothingness.
Sweet nothingness.
I prefer the nothingness.
At least then I don't have to think about Mary. I don't have to think about her hatred. I don't have to think about the little boy.
But there is a downside...
How is Little Guy? How is Emma? Are they both okay? What if Emma is here? What if Little Guy didn't make it? These thoughts plague me. I can never rest thinking of how the two of them are.
And yet I still can't remember either of their faces.
I feel warmth on my hand. I look to my left and almost groan. Light. It's back. Does this mean I will relive another terrible memory?
My heart shatters into a million unrecognizable pieces as I remember the poor little boy. A child that had his life stolen by me. I had told the sheriff, ready to accept my punishment. But the officer...he took one look at the boy's skin and cackled. His terrible words float into my head.
"Ain't nobody gonna lock you up for killing 'im."
The rage I felt came flooding back. Anger at myself and how people reacted to this atrocious act of mine. A young child who was only hungry, killed by a man who didn't even think. Not cared about because of the color of his skin. No one punished for this reason. Sickening.
We are all God's people, no matter what. We are all his beautiful creations.
The light gets brighter.
Wonder what this is gonna be...
I blink my eyes, but instead of the bright day I was last in, I have the expansive sky filled with twinkling stars. I look around and note the lantern that's lit on my porch. I turn and see the same flickering light shining in the window.
Where am I this time?
I lean against the wall. I guess this time I'm going straight into my younger self...or is this a completely different situation? I look up and my heart stops.
A simple tree. Brown bark, strong trunk with gorgeous green leaves. The tree turns into beautiful reds and yellows when Fall comes. It's the nicest tree we had in our yard. I had plans to make a swing for my future children in that tree. Instead, it became a resting place.
The little boy.
Mary and I had discussed it for a long time and decided to let the child rest there. It was the most beautiful spot that we knew of. Many a time, Mary did her sewing under that tree. That stopped after we buried the child. Instead, she went there to talk to the child. Apologize for the terrible things that he must have gone through and for me killing him. For her being afraid of him at first. She asks him about Heaven. She asks if he found family members there. If he made friends up there. If he met the Savior.
She stayed out there for hours.
And when she came back her eyes held grief that would never fade. She would avoid my eyes and touch. She never wanted to be around anyone when she came back in.
Well, she didn't want to be around me.
The door to my right opens. I jump and look over to see a familiar face. Dr. Hearth. My heart sinks. I know where I am now.
Not again.
Dr. Hearth glances over to me and I can see the deep grief in his eyes. The lines of his age even more pronounced with the frown and the darkness in his eyes. He had been the doctor in our parts for a long time. Most of the people my age and a bit older were delivered with him around.
Without a doubt, he was there when Mary was born.
"I'm sorry, son. There's nothing I can do."
And now he's here to tell Mary she was going to die.
I feel my mouth move as if I'm a puppet and someone else is controlling me, "Are you sure?" My voice breaks on the last part. Dr. Hearth only looks to the ground.
"Thanks, Doc," I tell him. He nods his head. He claps me on the shoulder and starts off towards his horse. I bang my head against the wall and take a deep breath. I feel my body start to walk. I want to reject it. I don't want to hear it again.
Please.
But just like last time, I move without wanting to. I move and I feel like someone else is there pulling my strings. I'm simply a puppet in their awful game.
I make my way in and head towards our bedroom. The house is small. We really only have the kitchen area and the bedroom. Nothing else. My hand goes out to push the door open, but I try to rebel, knowing what was going to happen next. It does no good. Resistance is futile. The door opens slowly, revealing a woman wrapped in blankets. So many blankets. Maybe every single one of our family members made for us for our wedding. She's sweating terribly from fever, gasping for breath. But she shivers, cold even though every inch is covered. My body rushes to her, picking up the soaking rag in the water basin. The rag is somewhat cold, but it only really helps clean off the sweat. I wring the water out and then start to pat her face. Mary feebly opens her eyes, revealing their blue hue. She flicks her eyes over to me and I see the exhaustion clear in them.
Exhausted because of her illness...and from holding in so many of her thoughts.
"Are you thirsty, Mary?" I hear my voice. But I ignore me, so I can study her. The bright spots in her cheeks. Her cracked lips. Her beautiful blond hair sticking to her face and neck because of the sweat. Her blue eyes, shining bright both because of fever and the knowledge that her death is imminent. She doesn't say anything to my question, but my body quickly reacts, getting a cup and filling it with the freshwater by the bed. My body holds it up to her lips. She greedily drinks, hoping to relieve one of her ailments. She knows she's beyond saving.
The silence envelopes us making me want to scream. This anticipation at what happens next will be the end of me.
"David," Mary whispers, barely audible. I remember not hearing her, but this time I do. I'm expecting it. She swallows and speaks louder, "David." My body turns to her as fast as a whip, ready to assist her in any way possible.
Here comes the pain.
"I hate you," I remember everything slowing down. I remember not processing what she had been saying at first, and then it hits me. The world around me fractures with this knowledge. With the reminder of how much it hurts to hear her say it. Everything I had ever thought about Mary and I had been destroyed with those three short words.
"What?" I say.
"I hate you." She closes her eyes so tightly, fighting the tears that weren't far off. "I hate you so much." At that moment, my heart had shattered. The only bit of me that had survived the boy's death, died when she uttered those words.
"Why?" I ask, my voice thick with hurt and pain. So. Much. Pain.
She opens her eyes, her beautiful blue eyes. I remember finally registering the resentment that had been there for a long time.
"You dragged me out here. You couldn't provide for me." She stops, but only because her sobs interrupt her. She tries to collect herself, but it's hard hating and loving someone at the same time. I sit there waiting for the nail in the coffin. The thing that completely kills the David I was.
"You're a killer." And there it is. I feel the tiny me that had thought he was good die. The me who had thought that it wasn't my fault the child had died. He needed to die.
It's at this moment I died. It isn't until a lot longer that I'm reborn as the me of today.
Mary gasps out everything she had pent up for so long, but I tune her out. Everything else after this is small things. Things that all correlate to the three main reasons. I had all those tiny knives stab me before, but I only care about the three daggers piercing my heart.
"You don't even seem like the boy's death even affected you!" She partially shrieks the last part. She starts coughing uncontrollably. My body immediately got her some water, but she waves it away. She puts her hand over her mouth. The coughing fit lasts for a few minutes before it finally subsides. She pulls her hand away, and I see it covered in red. She studies me, and there is so much hate in them. My silence had killed that last bit of love and hope she had had for me. She's finally free of her love for me.
"Go away, David." She tells me, disgust clear in her voice. My body had stayed, warring about leaving the love of my life dying in our bed. "Please leave." She whispers, her voice breaking on the 'please'. My legs move and before I know it, I'm back outside giving my wife the solitude she desires.
My legs lead me. I know where I'm going. I'm going to where the seeds of the current me will be planted.
I make my way to the tree. I make it to the stone and cross we made of sticks. I fall to my knees before the grave.
And then the darkness swallows me once more.
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