Burnt Wood

His eyes lit up, as he glared at the magical flames dancing around the scorched wooden ornaments. His mother had idolised the collection, he remembered when he was a child, he had spent many an hour listening to her words of warning after he had gotten too close to the cabinet or jumped to heavily in the hallway. Sometimes, when he had been less afraid of her and more angry, he had tried to break them, by banging on the wall in the dining room. He pictured the cabinet rocking back and forth, swaying to the beating of his fist. He willed the cabinet to fall, but it never did.

He had even tried prayer, asking God to push over the cabinet, or set the house on fire, or preferably let a flood ramble through the downstairs foyer, that way his room would be left untouched. Everything he had tried to do against his mother and her stupid collection had failed. Not that any of it mattered now. The woman was gone and he was never going to have to listen to her talking about her precious collection again. He wandered if he would have as much joy at her burial as he was having watching the ornaments dance through the flames.

A sudden wave of disgust washed through him. This was his mother, the woman that had birthed him and raised him on her own. She did not deserve such distaste and disrespect, yet there it was again, that anger and hatred rising up within him at the very thought of the woman. She had faults, like everyone else, but she had not done anything that deserved being hated so much by her own son, and her only son at that. He wondered how long it would take for him to forgive her, if he ever would, for the things she had put him through as a child.

He had never been scarred by the hands of his own mother, nor had the ornaments ever caused him direct harm. Yet he hated them, and he hated her, more than anything in the world. No one was even aware that his mother had passed away, perhaps they all thought she had died a long time ago. No one had ever asked him about her and he never volunteered any information. On the odd occasion that someone did ask him and began to pry too much, he would simply shy away from the questions as though he had not heard them, it usually didn’t take long for someone to figure out it was a subject that was classed as taboo with him.


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