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chapter two foreign memories
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She had begged—her voice cracking and with tears rolling down her red cheeks. She begged and pleaded on her knees. "Let her go, please! Don't take her from me, please!"
She was on her knees as if praying to a God, submissive to those in charge of the guns aimed at her and her daughter. "Don't take her from me, please! Please! Please!"
The cries of "please" had repeated on her tongue as if it were a prayer. She was a sinner, asking— begging for forgiveness. She was a sinner terrified of Hell: where she would be sent to suffer for eternity.
Her wet tears drowned her face, and if she weren't gasping as her lungs had collapsed, she would have heard her daughter's clueless cries.
"I'll do anything just—don't take her away! Don't take her there."
Rue never understood what her mother had meant by "don't take her there." She didn't know where there was or what it is. And no matter how many times she tried to replay the scene in her head she still couldn't figure it out.
And it was hard enough because she would break down trying to relive it. But it felt that every time she tried to remember, there was always something new about the accident.
Something she hadn't noticed before.
While it happened, Rue didn't recall hearing her mother beg. She didn't remember watching her fall to her knees and beg for mercy. She didn't remember her crying or the terror in her eyes.
