Chapter Eleven.
When Morning Took Her
Mama died at dawn.
The sky didn't change.
The birds didn't sing.
The wind forgot to blow.
Everything just… stopped.
I didn't open my eyes right away. I didn't have to. The stillness told me all I needed to know.
Her hand had turned cold in mine. Cold like river stones in the harmattan. Cold like something that once held warmth and lost it forever.
I turned my head, slowly, like maybe if I moved gently enough, the truth would change.
But it didn't.
Her chest wasn't rising.
Her lips were parted, but they held no breath. Just silence.
I touched her face. It felt like clay. Like something left behind. Not Mama.
I shook her hand. "Mama…"
Nothing.
My voice cracked. I sat up quickly, panic bubbling in my chest.
"Mama, wake up. Please wake up."
No movement.
I placed my fingers where her pulse used to be, like I'd seen the old women do when someone fainted in the market. But there was nothing beneath her skin now. No beat. No life.
A thick silence pressed against my ears.
"Mama…" My voice broke into pieces. "Please don't leave me. Please…"
But she had already gone.
And she had taken the last piece of me with her.
I dropped my head onto her chest and cried. Not the kind of crying you do when you're scared or hurt. This was different. Deeper. Like something inside me had shattered and could never be put back together again.
I cried until my voice was hoarse. Until the ground beneath us was soaked with tears and sweat and dust.
I cried until I couldn't cry anymore.
And still, she didn't move.
---
A Lonely Forest
I don't know how long I stayed like that. Time felt like water slipping through my fingers—fast and meaningless.
The boy was still there. Quiet. A shadow standing just far enough away to respect my pain.
He didn't speak. He didn't try to touch me.
He just… stood.
Maybe he knew there were no words big enough to fix something like this.
Eventually, the sun moved. The light shifted. The air grew warmer. But none of it touched me.
My world had gone dark.
And still, I couldn't leave.
How could I walk away from her?
"Mama…" I whispered, stroking her arm gently. "What do I do now?"
But the trees didn't answer. The sky didn't reply.
I was a child. Alone. With no home. No family. No map to guide me.
Just a dead mother beneath my shaking hands.
The boy stepped forward, finally. His voice was low, afraid to disturb the stillness.
"We have to go."
I shook my head. I couldn't. Not yet. Not like this.
"I can't leave her here."
He knelt beside me. His eyes were red too, but he wasn't crying anymore. Maybe he had run out of tears.
"The ground… it's too hard to bury her," he said softly.
He was right. The forest floor was packed and dry. We had no tools. No strength.
And even if we tried, the wild things would still come.
I swallowed hard, my chest burning. "So what do we do?"
He looked around, then pointed to the leaves. "We can cover her. So she can rest."
Rest.
What a small word for something so final.
I started gathering leaves with trembling hands. Dry, brittle ones. Soft, fresh ones. Branches and bark. Anything to wrap her in something other than silence.
It took a long time.
Every time I placed another leaf on her body, it felt like saying goodbye again.
When only her face remained, I paused.
I stared at it.
I memorized it.
The lines. The scars. The peace.
Even in death, she looked tired.
But she also looked free.
"I love you, Mama," I whispered, touching her cheek one last time.
Then, slowly, I covered her face.
The boy and I stood side by side in silence.
It wasn't a grave. But it was all I had to give.
My knees were weak. My hands dirty. My heart ruined.
But I turned away.
Because if I
didn't, I would never leave.
And Mama would never forgive me if I gave up.
So I walked.
One step. Then another.
And I did not look back.