Post Mortem : The Fates

Part 1 :

Chapter 1: Birthmark

Ka-thump...Ka-thump...Ka-thump

Frantic footsteps fell below young Rochelle Quinn's room. It was the sound that followed missing kin. That was what they were; missing.

Two days had gone by. Two of the longest days of her life. Their faces were so clear in her mind; a brother and a father. The love for them swelled the little girl's heart with anticipation of loss though she refused to see a future that existed without them. Her long golden brown hair was heavy with sweat. Sun tanned skin crawled with fear.

They were going to come back.

Still, the clomp of her mother's very worn boots echoed in her eardrums and vibrated her skull. They were her heartbeat now.

Ka-thump.....Ka-thump

She focused on the noise dulled by the stone beneath her bed. Her fingers curled around the ends of her blanket in a death grip.

Tired icy blue eyes refused to shut for fear of what might happen when they next opened. If she did not sleep she could stay here in this moment of purgatory. She was neither dead nor alive and so the same must be held true for the missing.

Ka-thump..Ka-thump......Ka-thump...Ka-

Then nothing.

For the first time that night all was still. Her stomach knotted as she waited for the sound to return to her. For them to return to her.

Too silent, it was far too silent.

She had to know why.

Had her mother finally given into sleep? The door had not opened, this she was sure of. But it was so quiet. Her skin bared goosebumps.

Despite everything, curiosity burned her from the inside roasting a hole in her intestines. Any second she would leave the comforts of her bed and all it stood for; ignorance, peace, dreams of a better life. She fought the feeling that once she left it she could never truly return to what it had been for her. Whatever it was that had calmed her mother's feet had to be known. They needed each other now more than ever. She had to be with her blood.

So, slowly Rochelle drew herself from her bed and down the stairs that creaked with her feet. Some very naïve part of the child still held onto hope. When she reached the bottom, her fear would be for naught. But as her foot hit the final step she was blasted with a gale force wind of a truth she tried so badly to deny. Nothing would ever be okay again.

Her mother sat with a vacant stare at the dull wooden table. Her long fingers tapped like unyielding thunder. Her legs were shaking as though she were freezing as she nibbled on a finger from her free hand. The once luxurious flowing golden hair now looked more like a knotted rats nest. Empty pale blue eyes focused on only the floor. If she had heard Rochelle come down at all she did respond.

"Mama?" Rochelle called softly.

She did not budge. Was she too far gone?

Rochelle ran to her mother, kneeled, and yanked at the hem of her dress. The woman saw through her.

"Mama?" Her voice now filled with worry and desperation. "Mama, please say something. Anything."

The loud drum of her mother's fingers was her only answer.

She jumped up feeling anger towards this shell of a human and snatched up her mother's hand just to quiet the noise. It was cold, clammy, and limp. She squeezed tightly hoping to send a pulse of life into her and that was when a shard of what was shattered shinned through.