Sunrise/Sunset

Ill

"M'ma" the child breathed the endearing word with a sense of pleading, her big brown eyes looking sorrowful.

"Yes, Fayea?" M'ma's voice was muffled, for she spoke through the cloth tied around her mouth and nose.

"Jus' once, M'ma, I beg you... Please, jus' this once, can I go outside?" Fayea strained the words, her gloved hands reaching up to touch her mother.

M'ma sharply pulled away, instinctively avoiding the touch of her daughter, even with the gloves on.

"No, dear, you've already been outside this week. You remember my rules, one day each week for one hour only."

"But I want to be like other children..." Fayea paused, "I want to run around and play, and... and..." her words trailed off, as she stared longingly out the window, her brown eyes glossy with tears.

"And what, my darling?" M'ma's brows furrowed with concern, her heart aching with the pain in her child's eyes. She, too, suddenly felt the need to cry.

"And... Perhaps... Perhaps even take off my gloves..." Fayea whispered, flinching as her mother inhaled a sharp breath.

"Fayea!" M'ma exclaimed, nearly stumbling onto the ground. "Fay, you mustn't say such things... You shall never take off those gloves! Never! You-you are ill, as ill as can be, and-and you will only make matters worse! Oh, oh so much worse..." The words shot from her lips, before she could soften them for her daughter. M'ma rubbed her temples, her head throbbing. She closed her eyes, afraid to see how hurt Fayea would be.

The little girl stared at her mother, feeling absolutely shattered and her chest feeling hollow and gutted. The silence was so much, that M'ma could not bear it anymore and left the room.

In that moment, Fayea felt more alone and abandoned than she ever had. Now that she was the only one in the sick room, she tore of her cloth mask and cried. Burying her face in her gloves hands, she sobbed for hours on end. And M'ma wept, too, for she could not help but feel so immensely guilty that she could not even give her daughter a comforting embrace. And M'ma felt nearly as lonely as Fayea, grieving her husband as she did quite often, for he had caught Fayea's illness 6 years ago, and died almost immediately. The tale of Fayea's birth was one she rather hated to hear, so M'ma had stopped mentioning it entirely.

M'ma had Fayea early, and the only one in the house was P'pa. P'pa, though he was not a nurse nor doctor, delivered Fayea and was the first person to hold her. But when he did, her big brown eyes stared deep into his and her baby-soft skin touched against his arms, and he only had time to place his daughter in a cradle before he died. M'ma was exhausted, and entirely unaware of what had happened. She only heard the wails of her baby, and saw blurs of ten nurses flooding into the room. The nurses wore long, thick gloves and large masks tied around their mouths and nose, hurrying to whisk the young child away.

Fayea only returned but three days later, covered in a white blanket with only her eyes peeking out, a nurse holding her with fearful eyes and covered head to toe as well. The nurse, besides holding Fayea, also held peculiar, dreadful news.

"Miss, this girl is ill. Extremely ill, and incurable. You must either send her to The House of Sickly Children, or keep her under terribly restricted circumstances. You mustn't ever touch her, no, nor be in the same room as her unless you both are wearing masks. Three nurses died, Miss, trying to figure out what was wrong with her. Three nurses! She's awfully ill, she is" The nurse stumbled across her words, occasionally stuttering due to her nervousness.

Over the three days that M'ma was left alone in her home, she had put together the story herself and quite understood that her beloved husband had died, mysterious as it was, and something was wrong with her child.

But when the situation was finally explained to M'ma, she suddenly wished that she didn't know. For she felt so bad for her little girl, and wanted so badly to hold her so tightly, but she could not.

As Fayea was left alone in her sick room, she pondered that story, and so did M'ma in her own room. Fayea felt fragile, weak, and infected, and angrily tied her mask back around her face, wiping the tears from her eyes.

Fayea was absolutely sick of her restricting illness, and with fury pulsing in her veins she climbed out of her window and into the fresh air. She looked around in the blue and green world, and a deep red rose caught her eye. She bent over, plucking the rose from the earth, a bit of dirt staining her white gloves.

"A rose for M'ma" Fayea beamed, staring at the crimson beauty. But soon she grew frustrated that even outside, she couldn't breath the fresh air through her mask. So she carefully untied it, and inhaled a rush of wind carrying the scent of dewy grass and smooth glass ponds. Fayea was smiling, and let out a deep breath of contentment. But as she exhaled, a cold breath that had been trapped for a long time was let out, and the rose began to wilt.

Fayea filled with disappointment, her smile faltering and her lip quivering. She ran around to the front of the house, bursting through the doors and exclaimed to her mother,

"M'ma I tried! I tried to pick you a rose, and- and I can't even do that! I'm so ill, M'ma, and I can't stand it any more..." But during the time that Fayea was speaking, the room filled with her breaths and her illness. M'ma had not been wearing her mask, since she was alone, and knowing she would die anyway from the infected air, she reached out to hug her daughter just once...

Fayea was taken aback by the touch, and barely had time to hug back before her mother fell to the ground motionless.

"M'ma!" Fayea screamed, the familiar word echoing in her head and the world spinning around her. Fayea tore off her gloves, for the first time in her entire existence, kneeling beside her mother and stroking her cheek. The skin against Fayea's hand felt comforting, despite M'ma being dead. Fayea felt so guilty, and with all her remorse she placed her hand to her heart and sobbed.

But as her ill hand was pressed to her heart, her heartbeat began to grow slower, and slower, and slower...

Until it stopped.

Author's Note:

This short story is sad, yes, but I truly enjoyed writing it. I believe my writer's block might be finally subsiding, and this is the first thing I have written in a long time.

For each short story, I will design a cover for it. I found it quite difficult to find the right picture to use for this specific cover, so I apologize that the cover does not exactly fit the story. But I like to think of it as the darkness in the tree representing Fayea's illness, and the little girl as Fayea, who is quite obviously afraid of the 'illness'.

Thank you for reading my first ever short story in this book!

Like usual, if you have any comments, theories, or feedback, I do enjoy hearing it!

-I. Quill