Mothers love...

She was in the darkness somewhere, moving slowly toward him. thoughhe couldn't see her-he never saw her,never until the last minute-he could feel her coming. It was almost as if he could smell her, but that wasn't it either, for the smell-the strange musky odor that filled his nostils-was his own fear, no the scent of her.

He wanted to hide from her, but knew that he couldn't. He'd tried that before and it had never worked. And yet now, as he felt her presence creepyng ever closer, he tried to remember why he'd never been able to hide.

Nothing came into his mind. No memories; no images. Just the certain knowledge that he'd tried to hide before, and failed.

But maybe this time...

He tried to think, tried to remember where he was. But again there was no memory, no feeling of place. Only the blackness curling around him, making him want to shrink into himself and disappear.

Suddenly a streak of light cut through the darkness, and he shaded his eyes with a hand, trying to shield himself from the stabbing glare. Then, through the blinding light, he was the argry visage, the woman's hate-twisted face as she stared down at him.

The door was pulled winder, and the light surrounded him, washing away the shadows that had failed to hide him. The woman stood before him, and though she didn't speak, his hands dropped away from his face and he looked directly up at her.

"Why are you here?" he heard her demand. "You know I don't want you here!"

He tried to think, tried to remember where he was. He looked around furtively, hoping the woman wouldn't see his eyes flickering about as if he might be searching for a means of escape.

The room around him looked strange-unfinished-rough wood of its framing exposed under the tattered remains of crumbling tarpaper. He'd been in this place before-he knew that now. Still, he didn't know where the room was, or what it might be.

But he knew the woman was angry with him again, and in the deepest recesses of his mind, he knew what was going to happen next.

The woman was going to kill him.

He wanted to cry out for help, but when he opened his mought, no scream emerged. His throat constricted, cutting off his breath, and he knew if he couldn't fight the panic growing within him, he would strangle on his own fear.

The woman took a step toward him, and he cowered, huddling back against the wall. A slick sheen of icy sweet chilled his back, then he felt cold droplets creeping down his arms. A shiver passed over him, and a small whimper excaped his lips.

His sister.

Maybe his sister would come rescure him.

But she was gone-somthing had happened to her, he was alone now.

Alone with his mother.

He looked fearfully up.

She seemed to tower above him, her skirt held back as if she was afraid it might brush against him and be soiled. Her hands were hidden in the folds of the skirt, but he knew wat they held.

The axe. The axe she would kill him with.

He could see it-then its curved blades glinting in the light from the doorway, its long wooden handle clutched in his mother's hands. She wasn;t speaking to him now, only staring at him. But she didn't need to speak, for he knew what she wanted, knew what she'd always wanted.

"Love me," he whispered, his voice so tremulous that he could hear the words wither away as quickly as they lef this lips. "Please love me..."

His mother didn't hear. She never heard, no matter how many times he begged her, no matter how often he tried to tell her sorry for what he'd done. He would apologize for anything-he knew that. If only she would hear him, he'd tell her whatever she wanted to hear. But even as he tried once more, he knew she wasn't hearing, didn't want to hear.

She only wanted to be rid of him.

The axe began to move now, rising above him, quivering alightly, as if the blade itself could anticipate the splitting of his skull, the crushing of his bones as they gave way beneath the weapon's weight. He could see the steel begin its slow descent, and time seemed to stand still.

He had to do something-had to move away, had to ward off the blow. He tried to raise his arms, but even the air around him seemed thick and unyielding now, and the blade was moving much faster that he was.
Then the axe crashed into his skull, and suddenly nothing made sense anymore. Everything had turned upside down.

It was his mother who cowered on the floor, gazing fearfully up at him as he brought the blade slashing down upon her.

It was he who felt the small jar of resistance as the axe struck her skull, then moved on, splitting her head like a melon. A haze of red rose up before him, he felt fragments of her brains splatter against his face.

He opened his mouth and, finaly, screamed--