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Lark
“Falling Apart” by Michael Schulte
Ten years ago…
“Happy birthday, my Little Songbird!” Mom sings, her face split into a wide smile as the server places the biggest ice cream sundae I’ve ever seen in front of me, complete with lit sparklers which fizzle and pop, the noise loud in the mostly empty diner.
“Whoa,” Rook, my younger brother whispers, his sapphire eyes big and shining as he looks up at the massive desert.
“Here.” I hand him a spoon, heat filling my chest and my entire body feels light as a breeze. Today is the best day. “Let’s share it.”
He doesn’t waste any time, immediately digging in and dribbling ice cream all down his eight-year-old chin. Mum and I just laugh, and I let out a moan of bliss as the sweet flavor of chocolate with brownie and hot fudge sauce bursts on my tongue. We don’t get many treats like this and I plan to savor every bite of it.
“Good?” Mom asks from across the table, a grin on her beautiful face. Life hasn’t been kind to my mom, but even my father can’t beat the goodness out of her.
“The best!” I tell her, reaching over with the spoon to offer her a taste too.
We spend the next several minutes sharing my birthday sundae, and time with my two favorite people in the world is the best present I’ve ever gotten. Sitting back, we all groan as we each clutch our bulging stomachs.
“I suppose that it’s time to head back,” Mom says softly, her face clouding over like the early winter sky outside. Both Rook and I slump a little and it feels like the light has just gone out of our day, the thought of going back to my father’s house bringing with it a black storm cloud.
Mom pays the check, and we gather our coats, Mom helping Rook with his as I get mine on. I’m twelve now and am definitely grown up enough to sort myself out.
“You’re getting so big, my Little Songbird.” She lets out a sigh, then places a gentle, loving kiss on my head as she takes my hand and leads the way through the other tables and booths of Danny’s Diner, towards the door.
The bell rings when she opens it, the wind blowing my hair around and blocking my eyes as we step outside.
Pop! Pop!
Swiping the hair from my face, I see Mom freeze, and I watch with a suddenly pounding heartbeat as she falls to the ground, her body moving as if in slow motion as her knees hit the tarmac, then she falls onto her front and doesn’t get up.
“Mom?” I can barely hear my voice over the ringing in my ears and the squeal of tires. She’s making an odd gasping sound, and I drop to my knees on the cold asphalt, reaching out and turning her over. “Mom?”
Red. So much red covers her chest, staining her favorite white, chunky-knit jumper. It glistens in the watery winter sunlight, and I reach out, feeling its warmth as it continues to seep out of her. My pulse races in my ears, my breath coming in pants as I desperately try to force it back inside her, but there’s just too much. I can hear Rook’s voice behind me, but I can’t focus on anything other than my mom.
“L–Lark, baby.” Her voice is barely a cracked whisper, and I tear my eyes away from the blood, her blood, covering her torso to look into her blue eyes. Eyes just like mine, although hers are tight and filled with pain. “Lark, don't cry, baby, it’ll be okay.”
The chilled breeze brushes my face and I can feel the wetness there, my vision wavering as I realize what’s happened. I’ve heard the sound enough at Dead Soldiers HQ to recognize it now. They’ve shot her. They’ve shot my mom.
“HELP!” I scream, turning to face Rook. “Go inside and get help, Rook!” His face is pale, tears in his eyes as he just stands there, looking at me. “Go!”
The bell tinkles again a moment later, the sound far too cheerful for what’s happening, as he rushes back into the diner. I turn back to Mom when her hand grabs mine in a vise-like grip.
“P–promise me, L–Lark,” she murmurs, weakly pulling me down towards her.
“W–what, Mom?” My fingers almost go numb with how tightly I’m gripping her hand, and I let her weakly pull me so that my face is inches from hers, her soft breath tickling my cheek.
“P–promise me you will take your brother away from here. T–that you’ll do whatever it takes to get out and t–take him with you. Swear it.” Her eyes burn into mine, her lips pale aside from a dribble of blood that’s dripping out of them.
“I–I s–swear, Mom. B–but you’ll be here to come with us t–too,” I choke out, just as her eyes begin to close.
“I–I’m s–sorry I w–wasn’t strong enough, L–Little Songbird…” she trails off, her head falling to the side as her hand loosens on mine, letting me go.
“Mom?” I give her a shake, but she’s like the rag doll she bought me for my ninth birthday. “Mom! Wake up! D–don’t leave me, Mom!”
Grief consumes me as the winter wind picks up around us, blowing my long, red hair again around my bowed head. Hair the exact shade as hers, my eyes and Rook’s the color of our father’s, though unlike his, ours aren’t yet frozen and unfeeling.
I don’t push it away, uncaring as I hold her to me, sobbing into her still-warm body as the distant sound of a siren wailing fills my ear. It matches my despair, the soundtrack of what my soul feels like now that I know she’s gone. Even at twelve, I’ve seen my fair share of dead bodies, so I know that her rapidly fading warmth and the way she’s unresponsive all tell me she’s no longer with me.
