A mother tossed the sound of her 15 year old daughters screams. The mother still lay in bed, thinking nothing of the howls erupting from the hall as Belle had been prone to these terrors since the age of six. They simple wore the young mother down over the years. So much so that the mother did not even raise her head when the screams turned to blood-curdling cries, rushed forth by pain. However, after a minute or so of this, the mother did prop herself awake on her elbow awaiting the arrival that, like clockwork, occurred after every episode. Belle would come in, squirm gently under the covers, into her mother, and would be soothed by her mother’s calming voice in a story.
The cries met with an abrupt silence, as if surprising crashing into a steel wall. Things got so quiet in that small apartment, you could hear the collision of air particles. A mother sleepily awaits her only love, but is met with more and more silence. 10, 15 minutes pass and she is still alone. No warm loving daughter, no slightly frightened bunny in her arms. Anxiety fills her, cold and sure, like a thick syrup in her veins. She scrambles off the bed, almost slipped on the fallen comforter. She olympic sprints through the short hallway and immediately regrets it. Oh God. Oh God why couldn’t she have stayed in bed, blissfully ignorant from this horror. Oh God why.
She daughter's empty chest cavity stares back at her. Blood is pooling inside, tittering on the edge of waterfalls. She rib cages stuck out at awkward angle, crooked like old winter trees. Love read out on her arms in thick crimson letter. Her face, however, was immaculate, lovely as ever, except for a single bloody streak.
Whatever strength the corpse’s mother had left expelled out of she along with the banshee screech erupting from her heart. After only sobs remained, she squirmed gently under the cover, into her daughter, and lay quietly beside her only sunshine. A sudden hand squeezed her entire chest. Nausea took over, then the cold sweats, then lack of breath.