A Mother's Love

By Marian Unn

A person can only do so much to survive in a world without faith and hope, but what is a mother to do when the very person who created this horrible world, is her very own son? A Mother's Love follows a mother named Rosetta, as she watches her son grow into a cruel and powerful man. Blaming herself for her child’s horrid transformation, she continues to try and mother the monstrous man in her hope to change him. She strives to uphold her ideals of motherhood, knowing that if she is to ever see the light within her son’s eyes again, she must be a good mother. And of course she knows that a good mother must love, she must be patient, and above all else, she must have faith.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marian Unn
• Release date: Aug 27, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311734389

Marian Unn

I grew up on the east coast, went to college on the west coast, and live in the middle of the country. I've always been a story teller. When I was given the choice on a writing test to either write about a hero in my life, or create one, I chose to create one. I suppose I couldn't help but want to create my own adventures or express my own ideas about what a "hero" was. I was always making up wild stories; if someone wanted to hear a story, I'd always make up the most fantastic and silly tales right on the spot. One day, a friend asked me to tell her a story, and so I did. When I was finished, she wanted to hear more; she wanted it to be longer, with more details. I suppose she told me to write a book...and so I did. This was the start of many late nights hunched over my computer. Later on, I really wanted to publish my works since so many of my friends and family seemed to enjoy them. More so than that though, I wanted to express myself, to convey my emotions and perceptions into a form that others could connect with. Writing thus helped me to connect with others, as well as to find myself through my characters. I feel so very lucky to have discovered smashwords, and to have been given this opportunity to share my stories with the world. Thank you for reading!

Book preview

A Mother’s Love

Published by Marian Unn at Smashwords

Copyright 2015 Abigail Williams

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 1

To be a mother is not an easy task. One must be wary of how they act, what they say, and how they treat their child. Every motion and word that a mother speaks and does count tremendously in the eyes of her child.

But how could I have known? How could it have even been possible that such simple little words could mean so much? How is it that the words of one child to another could form the child in such a way as this? What is a mother to do when her child has all but vanished? Devoured by a demon birthed from the words she herself spoke in her naïveté.

Yes, we must be careful, we must be wary. As mothers, we must love, we must have patience, and above all else, we must have faith.

*****

Their faces were of stone, and their eyes filled with pity, but still I bore my smile.

Do you ever regret giving birth to that thing? the soldier asked coldly, gripping the spear firmly in his hand.

Staring down at the courtyard, I spied the thin line on his face, the tight line of resignation that had beaten down his once brimming smile. For what use is a smile in the world he has created? Poor child, he has truly forgotten how to smile. That beautiful smile he had once worn as a babe had died so pitifully long ago; and even I, the boy’s own mother, have begun to forget just what it once looked like.

Not turning from the window, I answered the soldier, Even if you had come to me when he was just a babe, even if you had told me all the awful things he would do, and somehow shown me what he would become, I would reflect upon the images and things you had told me, but I would hold him no less tightly to my breast, and I would defend him just as strongly. I would then say to you ‘his eyes were not always so black.’

With a shaking grasp on his weapon, the infuriated man’s voice echoed through the tall chambers. Cursing and flailing as the others dragged him out, I heard his words, just before he was to be forever silenced, You foolish woman! That monster will kill you one day as well! Why protect that thing? Why defend that monster?!

With that, the heavy doors slammed shut. Though they took him out so as not to have me see it, I still heard his cry. I always heard their cries.

There are no enemies, no rebels, no traitors, no prisoners, no missionaries, no hope whatsoever in his world, and so there is none in this world which he rules.

Oh, my son, I whispered, grasping the cross that lay hidden beneath my clothing, Oh, my son!

*****

I remember when he was a child, so young, so innocent; yet even then I saw that there was something within him, something fragile that would one day inevitably break. I once tried to hide this from myself. A useless effort. For that fragile thing, when broken, would rebuild itself and then break and rebuild itself and then break again, until that gentle fragile piece of him would turn into a stone as hard as diamonds, and as rough as the pain that beat at his withered heart.

Looking back at it all, I nodded to myself, Yes, I think it started then, at his father’s death.

Though he widowed me, and I was a young widow, his father was a strong man. He was neither rich nor poor. And although many could not see it through the bangs which he had worn so long, he was a handsome fellow. I met him at his father’s store. He was a cobbler, a mighty fine one at that. I was only a girl then, and he but an apprentice boy. So young and in love we were, and when we wed and Merek was born soon after, it was the light of my youthful marriage! Oh, but how short that light did last. Although a strong man, Jobel, my beloved husband, died so very, very young, leaving me a mere child of a wife to raise our four year old little darling of a boy.

I remember that day distinctly, the day we buried Jobel. All the other mourners had gone. It was only Merek and I left standing at his grave. Merek’s tiny little hand squeezed mine, his tears having all but run dry. He looked to me with those big, dark brown eyes of his father, and he asked me a question that all children eventually ask, though no one parent can truly know the answer. Nonetheless, I tried my best to answer with what little wisdom a nineteen year old mother could give.

Why do people die? he asked.

Well, I said gently, bowing my head to his, People die, my son, for one or both of two reasons. The first is that God has seen that they were ready to go. And the second-

He interrupted me, pulling at my fingers, he scrunched his little brow, "Does God care whether or not we are ready to let them go? Doesn’t he know we needed Daddy? Well, Momma? Doesn’t he?"

Gently moving my hand across his face, I smiled wearily. We are not God, Merek. We cannot know or say whether or not someone is ready to go. Only He can. We are not meant to know the reason why those closest to us die; we can only hope that the reason will help us grow closer to God.

I still wonder if those were the right words to say, if that sternly bent brow of his then was the beginning of the constant one he wears now. I wonder if all of this was my fault, if he lost sight of everything because of me.

I know now that if those words had indeed changed him, than the ones I was to speak later would most certainly transform him.

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Chapter 2

He walked with booming steps. At the thundering of his boots, the remaining soldiers fled from the room. Stern whispering was heard through the door, a quick movement of feet, and BANG! Two more bodies fell to the floor. They were no doubt the two guards that had allowed the other man to enter my chambers, despite his being only a fledgling of a soldier. He was probably a spy of a rebel group who had infiltrated the guard in some futile attempt to cause chaos within Merek’s ranks. I had seen it before. Such attempts never succeeded. Their plans would always abruptly shatter just before fruition.

The large wooden doors creaked open. Sheathing his sword, he walked towards me slowly, but just as they closed, he rushed to me. Bending down at my side, he pulled my hand to his face, and then looked up to me just as he had when he was a child. But this man was no child, and his eyes were not as bright as a child’s. No, they were black. Cold and ruthless, they were constantly observing, trying to perceive some fault in everyone and everything.

I do not believe he is even worthy to be called a man any more, for he has reached levels too low, too inhuman to any longer be called such.

Merek, my child, my son. He is not even old enough by most standards to be considered a man; yet, to many, my child is already considered a monster.

Mother, he whispered, pressing my palm tighter to his face, to the face of a creature which had just killed two men not moments before.

Are you not a little old to be acting in such a way? I asked, peering down at my murderous child.

He said nothing for a moment, then stood. Please, not now, Mother, his voice shook. I need you to console me. I need your motherly love right now. Please.

How can I give love to a killer? My lips quivered at the word.

His eyes were unphased, he neither smiled nor frowned. "You used to tell me that a mother’s love is forever no matter what. That any mother who loved not her child was no worse than a mother who had killed her child, and you used to always tell me how I was and will be forever your child."

Pulling away, he let my hand slip from his grasp. Standing tall, I rushed to the hearth in some vain hope that it would warm my trembling shoulders. Do not sting me with such words! You are my child, and I will forever love you. But I cannot bear the thought of kissing the cheek of one who has taken the life of another!

"But I have taken the life of not just one other but many others, and I will do so again. And you Mother, do not, will not, fail to kiss me, neither in our greetings nor goodbyes, just as any just mother should. His hand on my shoulder, I turned to him reluctantly. Having learned to wrestle with the pain and tears as best I could, I embraced him in a hug. Cradling his head in my hands, I kissed his cheek and hung there for a moment. Oh, Merek, if only one of God’s angels could have raised you, then perhaps my heart would not bear the burden of your sins."

Without pulling away, his words struck sharp into my chest, But you are my mother, and you did raise me. You made me who I am. I could not have wished for a better mother.

Slipping away from him, I returned solemnly to the chair by the window. Placing my hand above my heart, I bowed my head. It truly is my fault. Gripping the cross, I whispered aloud, If only I truly had been a better mother.

Disregarding my words, he stared attentively at the hearth, the blazing flames within soaring upwards. Do you plan to go to your meeting tonight? Merek asked. Holding my breath I nodded. He must not know the nature of these meetings. If he learns, I fear the words of that soldier--bless he and all the poor souls who fell today--may not be far from reality.

Well, I hope you and your, he hesitated for a moment, gathering of colleagues goes well. We were both silent for a moment, the seconds passing like hours, the minutes like days. Well, I really must be going. I have a meeting to attend to.

In silence, I stood as he came to kiss me goodbye, pulling my hand to his face as he always does. I know your gatherings are a matter you claim to enjoy, Mother, but I must ask, why then do you return so pale? Without a hint of mercy on his poor mother, his black eyes of poison bore into me, and I knew that he was not blind to the truth. Yet now I can only wonder why he still allows me to go. Does it make him proud to hold such a thing over his mother, knowing that a single word of it would have me at the guillotine’s head?

You are a cruel boy, I said without much thought.

I am no longer a boy. He gently returned my trembling hand. Have a nice time, dear Mother. The hollow wooden doors muffled not the sharp words that exploded from his lips as he left. Opening them once more, he spoke to me as if his words were the most common of things a child would say to his mother, Would you wait here a while more before you depart? There seems to be a problem with the disposal of the trash.

Not looking at his face, I nodded. I had to respond in some way, for I am afraid of what would happen if I did not. I am afraid of my own son. What kind of mother am I? How can I be so in fear of someone whom I myself raised, whom I carried and birthed, whom I love? How can I be afraid of such a person? Moreover, why has my own son given me reason to fear him without ever having raised his hand to threaten me? Why? Why must I fear Merek so?

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Chapter 3

Your state of business, Madam? the man whispered through the lock on the door. The wind itself appeared to echo the man’s question. My frosted cheeks had only been exposed to the cold night air for a moment and already they were burning red. Deus qui est spes nostra. I repeated the phrase I had said a hundred times before, its truth growing ever stronger as I say it again and again.

God is our hope.

Hello, dear sister, said the priest as he opened the door, though you would hardly recognize him in his nobleman’s attire. Greeting him with a nod, I shook his extended hand, Again and again I see you come here, and over and over I see you hide your face. Indeed these times are hard when one cannot even show her face at a place of friends! I assure you no one will judge you here, whoever you may be, dear Madam. Smiling gently I did not hold back my inevitable sigh, Oh brave Father, even when in the presence of God, man is still man; and man will always judge.

How true, how true, dear sister. I will molest you no more with such questions, as I see how they perturb you so. Stepping into the adjacent room, I nodded farewell to the Father who returned to the door to greet and direct the others now knocking and whispering to enter.

It was a remarkable place, this sanctuary. I would try to come here discreetly, and as often as possible. Merek’s close supervision, though, sometimes prevented this. However, Father Bart cleared all of guilt for their absences. He was a kind man who understood the difficulties of regular attendance; especially since the discovery of one’s attendance at these gatherings was punishable by death. Nonetheless, many still risked coming here, for this shop was the sanctuary of the city. During the day, it served as an unremarkable little flower shop. The smell of dirt and pollen were always fresh in the air. But at night it had a higher calling. During the night, the little shop served as a secret place for worshipers to gather. At night, it was a church.

I used to come here with Merek regularly when he was a boy. We would buy flowers at a very low price from the owner. He was a good friend of my family and often gave us discounts, even free bouquets now and then for special occasions. Of course, this little shop was not a chapel then. It became one when all the churches were either burned or their buildings forced to become other institutions. An order of my son’s I am ashamed to say.

I do not understand how he lost his faith.

I took him to church every week and cultured him in the faith as best I could. I always made sure he understood how to act kindly and how to be giving to others. Yet he somehow came to see the faith as just another obstacle in his path to power. And like all other obstacles and problems he faced, he chose not only to overcome the obstacle, but to utterly destroy every hint of its memory.

Carefully stepping down the steep stone stairs, I held tight to the iron pipe which acted as a support rail. These stairs were a part of a secret passage way that led down to the church. In the building itself, the passage way was disguised as a pantry within the living quarters of the shop. One need only open the door a certain way to find it and descend down, but if the handle was not turned correctly, the door would not budge. This was the second safety measure. Unfortunately, precautions such as these were necessary in these desperate times.

Upon reaching the bottom of the steps, I came to five great doors which creaked under the pressure of the solid earth above. This was the third security. Walking towards the fourth door, I knocked once.

Have you a purpose in coming to this gathering? the old familiar voice of the owner, Mr. Herlet, inquired.

Sir? There is no password to this door.

I know, he said, while a chain began to rattle from within. The door whined as four men dug their heels into the ground to raise it up I just wanted to hear your answer. He smiled at me as I walked in; the slamming of the massive door behind me shaking the walls around it.

Pulling my hood tighter over my head I held my breath. When he rested his hand on my shoulder, I smiled at the old man, Why did you inquire of me, sir?

Because when most leave here filled with hope, you leave here more lost than ever, pained even. We all see it, dear. As his grip on my shoulder tightened, I winced.

You speak just like my son. He too says I am more sorrowful when I leave here.

Well, perhaps it’s because your boy ain’t here. Would you not leave happier if your son was here with you, receiving the graces and experiencing the spiritual joy that comes from this place?

It would bring to me the greatest joy I, as a Christian mother, could ever know, if my son were ever able to experience such joy as this place offers, though