The slight sound of footsteps appeared. The next minute, the door opened, and in came a mother — with an infant in her arms. Having a cradle already intact, she walked straight forward, slowly over to it; despite it being 2-3 inches to her left, she still walked straight over, only having to turn an inch toward said direction. She then took a step or two forward, right before lifting the baby over the cradle. Then, as soon as she laid it down onto its bed, she just — continued to look; leaning over the cradle with her arms crossed and her long wavy hair dangling from her head. It then led to her whispering, “Hora de irse a dormir.”
Slowly, while caressing the infant’s head, she repeated that sentence, “Hora ...de irse ...a dormir.” The infant continued to look up at her, but with an ambiguous expression. “Debes estar cansado,” the mother added, continuing on caressing its head, “entonces es hora — de dormir.”
Besides the kid’s bedtime, it was quite ambiguous to what else had been going through the mother’s head. Perhaps she was (and had been) thinking about the kid’s future; after all, it’d just turned a year old.
Of course, the mother’s thoughts were nowhere near as ambiguous as said being’s.
At its age, it was in no way possible for the kid to even have such things; on the other hand, it was indeed possible for it to recall the memories it’d lived, not the being itself, but the mind, even if under-developed.
As seconds passed, the mother — was still there.
Yeah, it’d been typical for a mother to stay with her own flesh and blood for that long; why am I even asking? I wasn’t even there. I’m getting carried away, I’m aware of that. I was talking about the mother, I know.
What was she doing (besides standing there over the cradle, looking down at her son — or daughter) at that moment? She was singing. Yep, she was just standing there with her crossed arms on the edge of the cradle, singing softly, and somewhat peacefully; can’t quite make out what the lyrics were, but I could probably make out what she was saying: ‘Dear little one, it is time for you to rest. So, when you wake up, I will be here at best. You will see me right here as I stand in the room, as a mother, as a friend, even as a tomb.’
The child’s reaction seemed to be enthusiastic, it could possibly have been confused; either way, it was still ambiguous. About ten seconds later, the caressing had immediately come to an end.
Finally, the mother then took her arm and hand right out of the cradle as she stood up straight; she even uncrossed her arms. Fortunately for her, the child itself finally did sleep, but only after the song had ended; perhaps it took a while for the smoothness of it to kick in.
Quickly, the mother grinned, right before one more whisper, “Buenas noches.” After turning around, just before facing away from the cradle, she finally then walked. Making it to the door, she grabbed the nob and turned it slowly and steadily. slowly re-opening it, she then took one last look at the infant.
Clearly there was no need for her to, as said being was already sound asleep; perhaps that was just what she took pleasure in seeing.
On that note, she slowly walked through the doorway and finally exited the room. As soon as the door had shut, quiet and peaceful was all that it seemed to be. Right then and there, however, something — quite (and truly) unexpected — had accrued. As soon as the footsteps had faded, another sound appeared right after.
I would in no way describe the sound as pleasant, cause bright and clear, it was nowhere near as being: it was as if the house was being invaded by wild hounds, except they were not. For it was the sound of human footsteps; not the ones of the mother’s, they were of someone else. From the sound of it, or lack thereof, the mother was absent. About seconds later though, that was in no way the case. The sound of footsteps continued, but it was hard to tell which ones were of the mother, as there was a dozen of them that could be heard.
“¿quién eres tú?” someone spoke out, blatantly the mother, “¿Qué estás haciendo en mi casa?” Immediately, a loud gunshot then appeared, followed by a mid-heavy thud. It didn’t stop there though. The mother was not dead, fortunately. From the slight sound of it, she was in fact suffering; even the slight sound of whimpering made it clear. The worst — had finally come.
Right then and there, less than nine seconds, a second gunshot went off; a moment of silence came about. After that conclusion, it sounded as though a deed was in no way finished. There were more than those four footsteps, and they were coming right up the stairs.
Now, you’re probably wondering, was the child awake — during those moments of supposed chaos? I will tell you this, as soon as that first gunshot had accrued, that may damn well have caught its ears. Awake, not widely though (his or her eyes open), the infant turned its head side to side. Listening as the footsteps came closer, it then cocked its head to the right, looking directly through the white bars of the cradle. Four thumps were made on the stairs, right before it turned silent. More than ten seconds had passed and the silence was still current. Then, within five seconds later, the door knob immediately turned. On that final note, slowly, the door cracked open ...