Boys died in the city all the time. And peasant boys had no one to avenge them, either. Their fathers were fighting the Red King's wars while their mothers were struggling, moving across the lands to find food, decent clothing and wood for fires. The only families that were rich in the district of Winsina, were rich because their mother's were whores. And they were lucky to gain that position; they and their children ate hearty meals, and lived happily in brick houses with roofs of strong twigs.

Meanwhile, the fathers that stayed in their huts were called 'bastards of war'. They were useless peasants that suffered fatal injuries and could no longer fight, or had drowned themselves in alcohol or debt. They smelled of their own shit and ate whatever crumbs their wives could muster. The other lot of the bastards were even worse off then them. They were cowards who refused to fight or support their family.

The children had no one around them to talk to other than the old and rotting cowards, or the other children of their age. In such a pretext, children were raised without morals or logic. Their only understanding was the value of food and coin.

Multiples of them died everyday, so they did not fear death. But they knew to run when one of them fell. The children knew that when one would 'fall', getting up again was impossible. That was their definition of death.

Knowing all of this, the boy had nothing to fear. He headed back into his hut, where his mother lied on the solid mud floor, underneath a blanket.

She had been lying on the floor since 2 years now. A disease far worse than the plague had gotten to her; she was paralyzed below the neck. She had no coin to gain the aid of the priests or the brotherhood of healers. All she had gained, was a son, from her time as a whore. All she had earned, she spent on her boy. And now, what was left of that amount, was being spent on her, to get her something to eat.

2 years back, she could guide her son on what to do and teach him how to spend the coin; but now, the disease had gotten worse; she was barely even able to move her jaw, and every time she tried, it pained her enough to bring tears to her eyes.

This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

She had raven black hair and thin eyebrows. A frail, small nose and blue eyes the boy had inherited. However, her teeth had now rotten, and some had broken away. Her jaw was held crooked, and her eyes were looking in the opposite direction. The last time she had said anything, was 6 months ago. At the time, she had told her boy to leave her and to depart on his own journey; but the boy had refused. He loved his mother too much to let her go.

As usual, he lifted the blanket to see his mother's bare, skinny body and cleaned the shit between her legs with the cloth kept in the corner. Flies swarmed around his mother's ass. The boy took the sponge next to the blanket and wiped his mother's body from top to bottom. Once he was done, he wrapped her in the blanket once more. Facing him, his mother lifted her neck, as if she wanted to say something to him.

The boy's eyes glimmered with hope for a brief second. He brought his ear closer to her mouth, as she whispered the words, "Kill... me." and placed her head back on the ground.

The last time she had asked something of the boy, he was young and different. Now, he was a murderer and was starving. He could understand the reason why his mother said those words to him. She was suffering. Nonetheless, he felt the sorrow hit his heart. His left eye dripped a tear as his lips twitched. His voice quavered, "Mother...", as she shut her eyes.

He brought the body of the corpse outside into his hut, sat on his knees and smashed the corpse's head with his mother's. Because of how weak his hands were, it took him 10 times to properly put an end to his mother. His starvation had led him to make the decision of ending her misery. Seeing parts of her brain and skull now splattered over the floor, a stream of tears flowed from him left eye.

A moment later, he exhaled heavily, several times, as he calmed himself. A sense of guilt was riding over his heart. With the top of his lungs, he yelled, "Gaaaaaaaaaahh!!" as he stared at the roof of hay. His blood was boiling; a tear of blood trickled down his right eye.

'Who's fault was this? Who had made my mother suffer for so long?' With a momentary pause, he arrived at an answer, "The priests."

His eyes were sharped by the sensation of rage. He was determined. He knew what had to be done. As his mother had suffered, the priests needed to suffer. The pain they could have cured so easily, was now lurking behind their backs for their heads.