My Writing
Lullaby
A hefty bed overpowered the tiny room; the deep curtains draped over its posts leeched what little light the flickering candles gave off. No windows existed to grace the space with heavenly light, nor were visible any symbols of love and happiness to relieve the stifling darkness that pressed itself into even the smallest of spaces.
Nestled in amongst a heap of blankets and propped up against a towering mound of pillows rested a frail young woman, her cheeks and eye sockets sunken and her hair thin, yet she retained her beauty. A beauty so renowned that she was recognized and honored by nobles and clergy alike, kings and queens appeared to be the poorest of peasants in her presence, though she remained the humblest of women.
Kneeling at her side was a young boy, not yet fourteen years of age, whose face and eyes reflected the beauty of the woman lying next to him. He held her hand in one of his, while running a cool cloth over the woman’s forehead with the other.
“You must,” she gasped. “You must do this for me.”
“I do not know if I can,” the boy said.
“My time is at an end, my darling. I shall not be able to rest unless I know they will be safe.”
The boy glanced up to a small crucifix positioned on the wall above the woman’s head. Lord, give me strength for this which I must do, he prayed.
“I will do this,” he said after a moment, “I will keep the other children safe for you, mother.”
Tears began to flow from the woman’s eyes as she lifted a hand to her son’s face.
“Oh, my baby boy, my William…” she managed before her voice gave out.
William watched as his mother closed her eyes and a smile stole across her lips. She could no longer speak, yet her lips began to move and form the words to a song he knew all too well, a song she had sung to him many nights in his sleepless past. Without ever realizing he was doing it, William began to mouth the words along with his mother as her voice began filling in his head:
Soft the drowsy hours are creeping,
Hill and dale in slumber sleeping
I my loved ones’ watch am keeping,
All through the night
William’s eyes had closed, and when he opened them his mother lay still, that soft smile still gracing her pale lips.
“Sleep my mother and peace attend thee,” he said, using the lullaby she loved so well, “guardian angels God will send thee, angels watching ever around thee, midnight slumber close around thee, all through the night.”
He had planned on saying this upon her death for many nights, having learned its verse and arranging it to fill his need.
Though tears still shone bright on her face, William could not find it in himself to cry. He knew she had been in much pain and could only feel relief that she was now released from her never-ceasing torment.
William leaned forward and was about to kiss his mother’s forehead, when one of the candles went out with a faint hiss. He looked over towards the candle in time to see something drip from the ceiling and land just next to the tarnished candlestick. It looked like a globule of paint, like that which the castle’s artisan used for the portraits.
Another drip, this one closer, landing beside his hand resting on the blanket. It felt like nothing William had ever touched. Though before he was able to think more on it, little rivulets of the substance began raining down throughout the tiny room, leaving pools of it over the bed and floor.
A hole appeared in the ceiling and a beam of light fell upon his mother’s face. She no longer looked sunken and grey, but was returned to her former majestic—her cheeks plump and rosy, her skin smooth, soft, her lips were full and red, hair golden and cascading around her head and down the pillows.
The hole widened until there was no more ceiling, but blue sky stretching overhead. The walls began to buckle and melt, falling in upon the room and filling up the floor. Behind where once the walls had stood were solid walls of dark, moist earth, which began to move in closer to the bed.
William had crawled onto the bed and was fighting back the melted walls from covering over his mother, but it was filling in from all sides. Soon he was only able to keep it off her face, before there was nothing left he could do for her. The pasty substance slowly turned dark to match the dirt walls and rose in upon the rapidly shrinking space. William only just managed to climb out of the hole before it filled itself in, a thick layer of grass sprouting up over the small mound now before him. Behind the mound rose the stone statue of an angel kneeling in silent prayer, her wings fanning out behind her, the name Elizabeth Andrews carved gracefully into a plaque at her base.
By the time the transformation had completed, William found himself on his knees and crying into his hands. He was able to mourn for his mother after all.
Standing still and stony-faced around William and the grave of their mother were the rest of her children, William’s brothers and sisters. All were wearing clothes of a black to match the deepest of voids, their eyes downcast as silent tears fell from their cheeks and into the grass. They all knew she had been sick, though none had expected the end to come so swiftly.