A Moth in the Flames by S. E. Turner

Author:S. E. Turner [Turner, S. E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-10-30T23:00:00+00:00

Dawn came with hazy grey skies and an air that burned the soul. She came to her senses slowly, a dim light penetrating the grey blur of slumber. She opened one of her sleep-deprived eyes. The air smelled of rain, and the heavy clouds had burst into a monsoon. Through the shutters, little drops seeped through and landed on her tear-stained cheeks. She wiped them away and opened the other gritted eye. Thank goodness for rain she thought. She rolled over and felt something wet between her legs as she moved. At first, she thought it was the rain water, but her hand told her it was blood. She fought back the scream and watched the liquid run down her fingers. She looked over to Raoul. He was still. She touched him with her bloodied hand. Tears welled into pools of despair and tumbled on to his pallid face.

Outside was a smoking wasteland. The fire had largely burned itself out with the rain, but here and there a few patches were still smouldering. The forest was a mass of blackened spears thrust into the sky. Other trees had fallen and lay charred and broken, their hearts had extinguished hours ago. The flies and maggots were already hard at work on the animal carcasses. A veil of death obscured the sun.

Her wails went on for days. She only went outside to stand in the rain and wash the death from her body. Her skin was covered in wood-smoke and blood. Her blood, Raoul's blood, her baby's blood, all mixed together in a sickening concoction of failure and loss.

'Why?' she screamed to the skies. 'Why do you punish me so? Haven't I served you enough? Haven't I faced every challenge you threw at me with strength and fortitude? Haven't I embraced everything on this island? Obviously, I am not good enough. I got it wrong. I have failed you, and that's why you took both my loves away. That's why you tore them from my breast in the cruelest way possible—because I am not good enough for you. Well, I give in. I am not worthy of you, and so I am walking away. My father will have to die like my child, like my husband. I cannot save him. I could not save my dearest Raoul, nor could I carry my beautiful baby, so why should I save my father? Why should he live? Tell me that 'o' great one that doesn't speak. Tell me that?'

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