Sunlight Under the Stars

A little boy makes his way down a poorly lit street not far from his home. He recalls the events of the evening with great chagrin as he follows his heart to the only place in all the world that grants him solace when his soul is weeping. His foot steps are as sorrowful as his face is sullen.

His mother's last words play over and over again in his head.

"It's a game! It's always been a game. An endless game and nothing more. And you've lost Johnathan, you lost a long time ago. But you couldn't stop playing. Couldn't accept defeat. And now Simon is going to die with you." Simon could clearly visualise his father, slumped up against the wall staring up at his wife, face riddled with fear and addled by guilt.

Guilt, and shame.

What happened next was too much for Simon to retain the visual. Despite it's youth the memory fades to black at this point. But every sound is so crisp and clear that he might as well literally be reliving the event. Tears stream down his eyes as the violent melody plays through.

The buzzing of a mosquito near Simon's right ear.

The desperation of father's final plea. "Linda," he choked on the name pitifully, "please."

The sound of mother cocking her shot gun.

The swoosh of father's leg sliding along the floor desperately, followed promptly by a shrill surprised squeak from mother as he swept her out from under her own feet.

And finally, the three pronged finale that sent Simon running out the door. A bang, the gun going off as mother fell. A thud accompanied by a sickening crack as her head hit the ground. Simon hadn't stayed long enough to see red, but he knew what happened. Even on her way to the ground, mother's aim was true, father was erased; however, the velocity of the fall or rather swing to the ground was enough to erase her too. The lights had probably gone out of her eyes before Simon had even made it out the door.

The replay ends, and starts all over again. By this point Simon has nearly reached his destination. He rounds one more corner, and traverses a path behind a no trespassing sign until he sees a small field of grass overlooking an immense river. The sun has not yet begun to shine, and there is no moon in the sky, yet nonetheless the dim light of the stars casts a surreal beauty upon the scene.

Simon sits in the middle of the field, a spot where he would be right under the moon if she wasn't hiding. He sits there, he looks up, and he cries. Almost silently, he sobs and sniffles into his knees.

First, he mourns his father.

"Daddy," he snivels.

Second, he curses his mother.

"How could you," he mutters angrily between sobs.

Finally, he mourns his mother.

"Mommy..." he whimpers, "why?"

Simon's mind races from there. He thinks to himself that seven years old is far too young to lose one's parents. He wonders if he could have made a difference. Mother wasn't always deranged as a diminutive donkey on a downward dive into the dirt; but that doesn't mean that her metamorphosis was sudden or unexpected. One step at a time the red flags went up. First she started having mood swings that were far outside of the norm. With each passing day she had become more and more angry, and her moments of grace became more and more fleeting as time passed by. It started two years ago, & both Simon and Johnathan had noticed it, even talked about it! Neither of them saw reason for action until she became aggressive.

Six months ago Linda had started muttering to herself rapidly and pacing all over the house. Johnathan was concerned enough to start calling doctors and trying to get referrals to a specialist, but Linda wouldn't have it. Each time he tried to get her out the door, she got worse. Until around two months ago, when for the first time in the history of the little family unit, she hit her son.

Simon will never forget the bitter sting of her hand connecting with his face. She hit him so hard he had trouble standing up afterword, a dark red hand-print had been visible for days. That was when Johnathan called the police.

With Linda apprehended and taken into custody, life became peaceful again for a time, though the house felt empty without her. Simon needed his mother. He didn't care that she hit him, he didn't blame her. He knew something was wrong and he loved her and he wanted to help her; but Simon couldn't bring himself to say a word because he could see his father's pain. He was terrified of pushing his remaining parental unit over the edge and losing both of them forever.

Eventually Linda broke out of the psychiatric facility. Less than 12 hours ago in fact. Johnathan received the call confirming she was at large and warning him to lock his doors and stay inside for the night, but it was too late. She kicked in the front door later that evening, loaded for bear.

Simon is running all of this and more through his head, torturing himself. Really genuinely starting to believe that it's all his fault. His thoughts seem to be taking a life of their own, working to destroy him from the inside.

"I should have said something."

"I could have comforted her, calmed her."

"Why didn't I talk with the police?"

"Why didn't I visit her when she was locked away?"

"Did I let this happen? Is it my fault? Could I have changed anything?"

His thoughts and his words to himself become more and more frantic by the minute while the sky slowly becomes lighter as sunrise approaches. His tears become thicker and his wails become louder and his hatred of himself becomes deeper, until he looks down at the water.

"It looks so peaceful," he whispers to himself, "It looks so soft." He takes a deep dishevelled breath, dries his eyes, and gazes upon the water with a new sense of calm chasing the painful thoughts away.

"I could just sleep in there," he says in a sort of trance. A little more time pops by as he embraces these new calm thoughts of the serenity of a permanent sleep. He finally makes up his mind, and puts his hands on his knees as though readying himself to stand up and make his way toward the river.

And then he doesn't. He stays there on his knees, the darkness in his eyes vanishing as it is replaced by new light! For he has seen something that has changed everything.

The first rays of the sun sparkle across the river and over the field, illuminating not much more than a strip of grass. Right there in front of Simon not two feet in before his face, is a lone marigold. The flower shines in the soft morning light, beautifully framed by the contrast between the vibrant green grass and the still starry sky.

Simon looks upon this flower and is made whole. He can't quite put his finger on it, but something about seeing that lone flower bathed in the warm glow of the earliest tendrils of the sun's embrace makes him feel renewed. His hope has been resurrected, his light restored. He has not forgotten his sorrow, but he has put it behind him. Just like that. He stares at the flower and he smiles softly, shedding one last tear, which falls upon the flower, and glistens upon it's petals in the sunlight beneath the stars.