Jacob Sheppard (siren_son) wrote in light_of_may, @ 2010-01-12 04:09:00 |
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Entry tags: | #flashback, #solo |
What the mother sings to the cradle goes all the way down to the coffin.
Who: Jacob (and two important NPCs)
When: Late July, 1976
Where: Estacada, Oregon
The child gurgled and cooed happily, his little rosebud mouth opening and closing with a near constant stream of sounds being spoken in his own little language. Above him, his mother laughed, softly, as if making too much noise would destroy the moment entirely. She leaned over him, her body stretched out across her modest bed, with its thin sheets and blankets, the simple pillows set up to frame the baby’s tiny body. Such a soft and helpless creature, with such tiny fingers and toes, and such large, dark green eyes, the baby flailed his little arms and kicked his legs as he looked up at his mother.
She smiled, softer than anyone else would ever see, her eyes holding such warmth that it would be obvious to anyone that saw her that she adored her son with all her heart. Trailing down his face with one finger, she traced his mostly undefined features; the true lines of his appearance would only emerge later, then still undeveloped and softened with baby fat. Round little cheeks, soft brown hair, he could have been any baby, really, so she looked more critically at her son’s face, wondering just what he’d look like when he was older. When he was grown.
Her expression twisted suddenly into some slide of sadness, grief, truly, as she was reminded fiercely, achingly, that she would never see what her son looked like when he was older. It was not her that was offered the luxury, no matter how she wished it then, as one of his tiny little fists closed around her finger and held on with surprising strength, the luxury of seeing how he would grow and become a man.
It had not been her intention to sniffle ridiculously, tears filling her eyes as she looked down at her son; Clara had absolutely no desire for him to remember her, in any way, as being someone so sad. Still, it hadn’t been something she could have helped, her grief overwhelming her, almost drowning her.
He was only a few weeks old, not yet even a month, but the baby stopped his soft little noises with a suddenness that took her by surprise, staring up at her with those gorgeous eyes of his. They simply stared at each other for several long moments, an intensity of understanding held between them that belonged to no other bond than between mother and child.
The curtain of her long, dark hair cut them off into their own little world, as she did her best to hold back threatening tears, and her little Jacob watched her with an adoring, concentrated expression that no child should be able to manage so young. The mother could barely breathe, so caught up in her love for her son and in the pain of the knowledge that they would soon be separated. It might have been the way of the world, but it hurt no less for it.
That hour, where they lay together on the bed, looking at each other as he wiggled his bare toes and was constantly surprised by his own flailing hands as they waved almost magically in front of him, was one of their last together. The event she had dreaded soon came, albeit not exactly as she’d imagined it would.
The door splintered when it was kicked in, and she could not even find the time to scramble up from where she sat on the bed, not before she caught sight of the pistol and the man staring her down. In her arms, the baby was still nuzzling at her breast, sleepy and nearly full of warm milk, and although her arms tightened around his fragile little body, Clara knew that she couldn’t protect him in that moment.
She opened her mouth, whether to speak or to try to sing the intruder into some haze to allow her and her child to escape, she didn’t know, but was cut off as the hunter in the doorway narrowed his eyes and cocked the gun he held. “You don’t want to be doing that, Clara.”
Clara Lewis, her arms wrapped protectively around her son, Jacob, immediately closed her mouth, eyed his father with a mixture of suspicion and the terror of a trapped animal.