Ashes and Embers – Part 1
The wind howled through the cracks in our shack, a mournful song that matched the ache in my belly. I was twelve, and cold, always cold. Hungry too, most of the time. Mother, once a vibrant woman, was now just a shadow, worn thin by years of hardship and Father's rage. He'd lost our farm years ago, stolen by those fat cats in the government – they said it was for some "development project" that never happened. Just another lie. They took our land, and with it, they took Father's soul.
His anger, a dark storm cloud that never seemed to clear, was mostly aimed at Mother. I lived in constant fear, tiptoeing around his moods, disappearing when the shouting started. The loss of the farm hadn't just taken our livelihood; it had broken our family. Mother coughed constantly, a racking, painful cough that stole her breath and left her weak. I'd seen her try to make medicine from herbs, but it never seemed to help. More than anything, I wished I knew how to make something, anything, to ease her suffering. I wished I could build a warm, safe home, cook her the delicious food that was always too expensive.
Mother's face, etched with worry lines and the bruises of Father's anger, was a constant reminder of our hard life. But even in the face of all that pain, she still found ways to show kindness. She taught me that even when the world was cruel, kindness was a weapon, a light in the darkness. She told me stories, whispered them while I huddled beside her, stories of helping others, of sharing what little you had. And then, one night, as she held my hand, her breath shallow and ragged, she whispered, "Leif, my son… even in darkness, there is light. Live… and help others find it. That is how we fight back." Those were her last words to me.
I scavenged for scraps, did odd jobs for pennies, and slept hungry. I saw the injustice of it all – those fat cats in their fancy houses, while people like us starved. I saw the pain in my neighbors' eyes, all victims of the same greedy system that had stolen our land and Father's mind. And I saw Mother's pain, a constant, gnawing ache in my chest. Her words echoed in my ears, a promise I made to keep. Each act of kindness was a small prayer, a hope that maybe, just maybe, my good deeds would somehow lead me to the knowledge I desperately needed – the knowledge to heal Mother (even though it was too late), to build a better life, to escape the hunger and the fear.
One day, I found an old woman by the river, weak and barely alive. My stomach growled, my heart ached, but I shared my food, stayed with her until she was better. I did other things too – helped a crippled boy, shared my knowledge of herbs, comforted a grieving widow. Each act was a step towards fulfilling Mother's dying wish, a small rebellion against the darkness that had consumed our lives. The memory of her words, "Live… and help others find it," kept me going.
Then the flood came...
Ashes and Embers – Part 2
The flood came without warning, a raging torrent that swallowed our village whole. The river, usually a gentle ribbon winding through our valley, became a monstrous beast, tearing through homes and lives. The screams of my neighbors were swallowed by the roar of the water. Terror clawed at me, a cold, icy hand squeezing my heart. I remembered Mother's words, "Live… and help others find it," and somehow, that gave me strength.
I fought my way through the churning water, pulling people from collapsing houses, guiding them towards higher ground. My small body, weakened by hunger and fear, worked tirelessly. I saw faces I knew – old Mrs. (N/A), clutching her grandson; young (N/A), his eyes wide with terror; even old Man (N/A), usually grumpy and reclusive, his face pale with fear. Each rescue was a victory, a small act of defiance against the chaos and destruction. But a bitter anger burned alongside my fear. This wasn't just a natural disaster; it was a consequence of the corruption that had plagued our lives.
I remembered the half-finished dam project upstream, a monument to the greed and incompetence of the officials. They'd taken our land, promised development, and left behind a skeletal framework of concrete and steel, a dangerous mockery of progress. The dam, left incomplete and unmaintained, was now a gaping wound in the river's side, unable to withstand the heavy rains. It was their negligence, their callous disregard for the lives of ordinary people, that had unleashed this fury. Their greed had drowned us.
But the water was relentless. It pulled at me, threatened to drag me under. My lungs burned, my muscles screamed in protest. I pushed on, fueled by a desperate need to survive, to keep Mama's promise, and to somehow hold those corrupt officials accountable, even in death. I saw a young girl, no older than six, clinging to a piece of driftwood, her eyes wide with panic. I reached her just as another wave threatened to sweep her away. I pulled her close, her small body trembling against mine.
Then, another wave, larger than any before, crashed over me. I was thrown against a jagged piece of wood, a searing pain ripping through my side. The world spun, the roar of the water fading into a dull hum. I felt myself sinking, the icy water pulling me down, down, down… into the darkness. Mother's words, a faint whisper now, echoed in my ears: "Live… and help others find it…" But this time, I couldn't fight. I was letting go. The darkness beckoned, promising an end to the pain, the hunger, the fear… But then, something changed.
Ashes and Embers – Part 3
The darkness wasn't empty. It wasn't the nothingness I'd expected. Instead, it was filled with a swirling, luminous light, a gentle warmth that eased the pain in my side and the ache in my lungs. I felt myself floating, not sinking, cradled in a comforting embrace. Then, my life flashed before my eyes – Mother's face, etched with worry and the bruises of Father's anger; the harsh injustice of the land grab; the relentless hunger; my small acts of kindness; the half-finished dam; the raging floodwaters; the faces of those I'd saved. It all played out before me, a whirlwind of pain and compassion. And then, I saw Mother.
She wasn't the frail, weakened woman I'd left behind. She was radiant, her eyes shining with a light that seemed to emanate from within, her smile warm and reassuring. She was there, but it felt like more than just her. It felt like… hope.
Suddenly, I felt a surge of energy, a jolt that shot through my body. The icy grip of the water loosened, and I gasped, drawing in a ragged breath. I was alive. I was back.
The strength that surged through me wasn't my own. It was a gift, a second chance. I looked around, the floodwaters still raging, but my fear was gone, replaced by a fierce determination. I had to finish what I started.
I pushed myself up, ignoring the pain in my side, and continued to pull people from the water, guiding them to safety. My body ached, my strength waning, but the light that had enveloped me fueled my actions. I didn't stop until my last breath, until my body could no longer fight the crushing weight of the water. Then, as the darkness closed in again, I saw a blinding light, brighter than anything I'd ever witnessed. It was a light filled with warmth and love, a light that transcended the pain and suffering I'd known. It was God. And in that light, I knew I had kept my promise to Mother. I had lived, and I had helped others find their way to the light, even if it was just for a little while.