Wretches And Kings

I really like the song Wretches And Kings by Linkin Park, and it kind of coincides with the message I'm trying to send with this story. I hope it turns out okay!


     Sadly humming a melody to herself, the woman brushes her sleeping son's long, coal-black hair off the olive skin of his gentle face and kisses his soft pink cheek. As she straightens out, humming the last notes of the boy's favorite lullaby, he mumbles in his sleep.

     "I love you, mum." The young woman blinks, her cobalt blue eyes filling with tears. She picks up her pack at the the door and slings it over her shoulder, unable to swallow past the lump in her throat.

     "I love-" her voice cracks and she looks at the floor, fists clenched, trying to regain some sense of composure. She looks back at her only son's sleeping form and smiles through her tears at his serene expression. "I love you, too, Alex."

     She flees from the small cottage, pausing only to join a man waiting at the edge of the woods, leaving her four-year old son to defend himself against the cruel abuse of the real world. His father already dead and his mother hunted by a cult desperate to silence her, the young boy wakes up alone the next morning.

The End

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