February Kinship Challenge: "The Mother I Never Knew"

On the back of a tattered parchment is a faded painting of a woman. At the bottom of the painting, in childish scrib, is written this inscription:

 

This is my mother. When I'm all alone at night, and it's too cold to sleep, I dream about her. I imagine what she must be like, my mother who I never knew.

There is something special about her eyes. I can never get them right. That bothers me. There's something to them that only my heart sees, I guess, I can see how much she loves me. But when I try to draw them, it's not there. And that spoils the whole thing. So I've stopped trying to draw them.

I focused on her hair instead. It's thick and dark, like mine. I got my hair from her. She likes to brush mine and tell me that. She's a nurturer. I don't think she would ever hurt anybody on purpose. And I'm the most special person in the world to her, so she is extra careful not to hurt me.

The orcs were fighting today. Someone got killed. The bosses made a big deal shouting about it. My mother would never fight or shout. She has a soft, gentle voice that soothes those around her. She's a peacemaker, always tries to avoid fighting... to a fault. She's a bit too timid. If the orcs shouted at her, she would probably put on a brave face for a while, but when she was alone, she would cry. And I would have to go and crack them all a good one for it. Nobody shouts at my mother.

Sometimes I cry too. But I never let anyone see it. No one but her. And she understands. She wipes away my tears and tells me to be strong. She reminds me of all the yesterdays I've gotten through. "You'll just have to get through tomorrow, too," she'll tell me. She's stubborn like that. My mother never gives up. I shouldn't either.

I think she's like an Elf. She loves to grow plants and take care of animals. But if I ever told her she's like an Elf, she'd blush and say she wasn't. She'd tell me how clumsy and plain she is. But I wouldn't see it. She's the most beautiful person I know. She'd tell me about all the mistakes she's made. But I would only half-listen. None of those things would matter to me. Because, to me, she is perfect.

Erauniel, age 10