emma 1

When the sun rose that morning Emma stepped out onto the creaky, wood porch of their mining camp home. The air was crisp and cold, clear and the sky was glowing of fire. She stood there long enough to acknowledge that that day would be the first of many alone. He was gone, burried the day before, slain by brigands and their rounds. She had cried herself to sleep, having not the desire to cover herself in the cooling night, nor the strength to light the fireplace wood. But what good would it have done? the most important part of her life was taken from her as though some stranger had given her a box with her own heart inside and forced her to burry it. What hope was there?

The tears of the night had left visible marks on her cheeks, once soft and smiling, now distraught and confused, lost. Her funeral dress of black still clad upon her trembling frame. The street was empty. Friends had offered to keep her company through the night, the first night but she refused insisting, "No. Please, tonight I must be alone."

As she went home that night, they all watched, fearful of what the next day would bring, fearful that she would not last the night, in the darkness with her sorrow. And she shut the door before them, they watched over the house through the night. No light was lit from within. No sound was heard from without. A young boy recounted that he had heard crying inside when he passed by the darkened house, "Mama, why is Miss Emma crying?" He understood nothing of death in his young life. But all those standing watch fell away as sleep took them one by one and they returned to their own homes.

And there she stood. There was no need to make coffee. There was no need to cook breakfast. There was no need to clean. There was no desire. Emma could do nothing. She let the cold permeate her body. The thoughts of him drifted into her vision. And soon they flooded her memory to the point that she was soon overwhelmed and fear and anguish and terror took her and the tears began broke their dam.

She held out her empty hands, wrists bordered with black lace, and saw them, empty. Her eyes screamed skyward so loud that the other townsfolk were awakened, startled. Screaming into the burning sky with her empty and quivering, outstretch fingers she fell to her knees. Soon she was nothing more than a sobbing heap on the porch, outside in the cold...