My mud crusted hands tightened around the rough handle of the ax… this was it… this was the end of him. I had him straddled. Cradling him between my legs. I thrusted the blade into his right shoulder. I wanted to play with him a bit. Make him really feel it. Dangle Death before him as an unobtainable desire… He let out a moan as he squirmed frantically beneath me. A manic smile crept like a mischievous fox on my lips.
But then the sound came. The sound I wasn’t ready to hear. The sound that left me gasping… like I was the one with a hole in my chest. The banshees.
At first, their cries sounded muffled… like hearing the tide roll in from a distance. And then suddenly it was crashing violently upon me. High pitched wails, screeching like a hundred dying doves, despite there only being about a dozen or so in the hoard.
I took off running towards them. Towards my mother whom they were circling like a hawk about to gut its prey. I kneeled down beside her. She was bleeding out from the attack… from that man born of ancient evil so foul… that he was more beast than anything else… I could see her slipping into the dark shades of the night… her eyes slowly going out like a candle being snuffed.
I grabbed her hand. Trying to ignore the lamenting cries above. But how could I? To hear a banshee is to feel a thousand deaths, to feel that incurable cold of infinite loss. Like them you become consumed by sorrow, utterly destroyed by a sadness so deep that you keep falling and falling into oblivion. Their screams are so palpable that the pain goes beyond physical… the wounded hurt of the soul… a brokenness so profound you know there is no going back from the haunting madness of it all.
“Mama! You have to fight! You can’t let go like this… you can’t…” I sob like a desperate child… but in this moment… I feel so small... so helpless. My words become lost… just the mutterings of a lunatic ravaged by grief. There is nothing I can do to save her… she is gone… she is gone.