A vast forest stretched before them, the greenery not as vibrant as it once was. Sunbeams filtered through the dense canopy above, casting intricate patterns of light and shadow on the forest floor, where fallen leaves crunched softly underfoot. The air was strangely fresh and slightly cool, carrying with it the earthy scent of moss and damp soil. Walking alongside the man was his small, furry companion, whose tail wagged with a mix of curiosity and concern. It had been four long days since the incident.
The man carefully extracted his Geiger counter from his backpack, observing the display flickering to life and stabilizing at a reassuring 0.8 mSv/h. A wave of relief washed over him; this reading brought a sense of peace and safety as he stood in the heart of their new home nestled within the forest. He set his gear down with intention, his fingers brushing against the smooth handle of his backpack, and lowered himself onto a cool patch of earth.
"This is a good place for us, little guy"
The man talks softly, almost like he's chatting with a small child, while the curious cat gazes around at the tall, majestic trees surrounding them. Half of the forest was burned down from the fallout, but the other side retained a small piece of its former beauty.
He took a moment to absorb his surroundings. The forest was unusually quiet, a stark contrast to the vibrant symphony of sounds he remembered from his childhood. Where once the branches would be alive with birdsong and the rustling of small animals, only stillness remained now, broken occasionally by the whisper of a gentle breeze. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled shadows that danced on the forest floor, but the silence felt heavy, almost as if the woods were holding their breath. He scanned the landscape, taking in the towering trees that stood like sentinels, their trunks thick and gnarled, yet they seemed to embody a stillness that was both beautiful and unsettling. It was a serene but eerie tableau that stirred a mixture of nostalgia and uncertainty within him.
Gently, he disinfected his wound, replacing the blood-soaked bandage.
He took his time making a small hut for them to sleep in, preparing food. They caught a small glimpse of peace and quiet in a world that was slowly dying due to its own actions.
Sleep was harder to come by. The man would lie down, kicking and twitching his feet—a habit he developed over the years. Meanwhile, little guy was sleeping soundly, while the man sat nearby on a bench he made, seemingly troubled by something, staring into the distant trees.
In the distance, he spotted a figure moving from tree to tree. The weariness faded as he grabbed his gun, ready for another clash. Whatever was troubling him was drowned out in the moment.
"Honey... come here, baby I miss you..."
A familiar voice spoke to him with a gentle, caring tone.
"М-мама?"
(mom?)
The man, confused, put down his rifle and quickly stood up.
"Sweetie, Mommy missed you so much"
Said the voice as the figure approached the man. Through the darkness, the man recognized his mother's face. He held his head in disbelief and anger.
"No, NO FUCK NO!... get away from me"
He spoke with an assertive yet sorrowful tone.
"You're fucking dead, no..."
Still holding his head, the man felt a hand petting him. Her fingers went through his hair as she spoke.
"Шта је било душо моја? зар ниси сретан да видиж своју мајку?" (What's wrong honey? Aren't you happy to see your mother?)
Her voice was heavy with sorrow, a gentle lilt that conveyed a profound sense of longing, as though she had spent countless years yearning for the moment she could finally embrace her son again.
The man looked up to see his mother's face again, his eyes strangely stoic, yet sadness engulfed him, his voice slightly trembling.
"Fuck you, fuck you and everything you've done to me"
His mother's face, already marked by worry, deepened with a profound sadness that seemed to overshadow her features. The corners of her mouth turned downward, and her eyes, usually bright, now glistened with unshed tears, reflecting a heavy heart burdened by unspoken fears and concerns. She turned around, covering her face and crying.
The man was hurt, after all, she was his mother. A wave of regret washed over him, slowly approaching his mother. He kneeled beside her as she cried.
"Мама... извини... волим те мама, молим те немој плакати..."
(Mom... sorry... I love you mom, please don't cry)
He spoke with a heavy heart, each word laced with a deep sense of sorrow. Every anguished yelp from his mother pierced through him like a sharp knife, twisting in the wound of his chest, leaving him breathless and aching with helplessness.
He tried to hug her.
She collapsed onto the forest floor with a heavy thud, the sound echoing eerily through the trees. Her skin was ghostly pale, contrasting sharply with the deep greens and browns of the underbrush. In her trembling hand, she clutched a bottle of pills, its label peeling and faded. Her eyes, once vibrant, were now hollow and sunken deep into her gaunt face as if life had abandoned them. She appeared utterly withered, resembling a forgotten body, left to decay in the wilderness for days, an unsettling reminder of mortality amidst the vibrant.
"You... did... this... to... me... honey"
She said, air escaping while she faded away into nothingness, the last sign of life in her eyes fading away with her.
He stood up quickly, stepping back as he stared down at his mother's dead body while that fateful day played in his head. A voice whispered to him, a man from the news channel;
"A woman was found beneath the Brka bridge, presumed to be the wife and mother of two children, holding a bottle of pills that was half empty. This tragic incident is likely to be classified as a case of suicide."
He stood in stillness, his gaze fixed on the lifeless body before him. Memories surged through his mind—echoes of his tumultuous childhood filled with fierce battles and unrelenting chaos. The vivid images of those struggles intertwined with the warmth of laughter and the innocent joy he experienced while playing with his mother. Those fleeting moments of happiness danced around him, a stark contrast to the heavy silence that cloaked the scene, capturing the complexity of a life marked by both pain... and every so often love.
*Bush rustles* He sharply turned to his right, the noise knocking him out of his trance, there was nothing there...
He looks back and sees that his mother's body is gone.
As he turned around, a familiar scene unfolded before him, one that struck a deep chord within his heart. He stood beneath the old bridge, its weathered beams and rusted supports eerily reminiscent of the day his mother had taken her life all those years ago. The air felt heavy with memories, a haunting reminder of loss.
There, in the shadows, sat his mother. Her figure was frail and trembling, consumed by grief, just like from that fateful day. Tears streamed down her cheeks, glistening like dew on the grass, as she clutched a small, bottle of pills in her trembling hand. The sight was a painful echo of the past, each drop of her anguish pulling him closer to the memories he had tried so hard to bury. The moment felt suspended in time, a confrontation with both his childhood and the unresolved sorrow that lingered in his soul.
He lunged at his mother, desperately trying to stop her, screaming and begging her not to go through with it. But she couldn't hear him. As she opened the bottle, he turned away, unable to bear the sight any longer.
The cries stop.
He woke up again, gasping for air. The forest was quiet as if mourning with him. He pushed himself up to sit in bed, holding his head, his gaze darting towards the loaded gun.
Little guy was cleaning himself and curiously looking at the man. The man picked him up and gently petted his soft fur.
Another night of terror.
He inspected his surroundings while gently petting the cat, avoiding the spot where his mother had fallen in his nightmare. With a surge of courage, he locked his eyes on that place.
Nothing was there.
He let out a deep sigh.
He opened his backpack and slowly pulled out a watch, one of those old ones that train conductors would use. Holding it tightly in his hands, he placed it on his chest. With a heavy heart, he signed again.
Another day passed.