Mama's Love

• Belinda Foo, Grade 10
• Short Story
• 2016

The gale howled. It ripped through Mako Park with the same velocity of the war that ripped through the nation. Han Po gasped. Her ashen eyes surveyed the ash covered landscape. As her kimono clenched her skin, she tightened her hands around little Poh. He was precious. He was all that remained.

Ten metres beyond, a shadow moved. Han Po’s eyes darted towards the eerie figure. Little Poh’s face turned blue under his mother’s tight grip. Whose figure had she seen? Han Po hesitated. She could feel a trickle of sweat tackling her brow. Finally her hold loosened, causing the child to squirm. She pressed one gnarled finger to her cracked lips, pulling a faint smile.

Han Po crept through the dilapidated bricks of the former amusement park. Once, the family of three had spent a blissful day here. Now those distant memories lay as dead as the ash.

Crunch. Crunch. Han Po’s steps alerted the dark shape. A masked face could clearly be seen beyond the billows of smoke. She froze. Her eyes studied the black figure, travelling from his slick greasy hair, through the thin layers of dark clothe and pausing at the dagger inserted between the fold of his sock. The stale wind blew between as Han Po’s eyes widened at his narrowed ones. His attention switched to the oblivious child behind. Han Po ran.

A crescendo of battle cries echoed throughout her ears alone. As Han Po ran she recalled the blood spilt from her beloved. At that time her hands shook mad and her brows creased in trepidation. Her beloved had passed then and only Little Poh remained. Much like the start of the war, Han Po ran to her helpless child.

Slow. Han Po felt as if her time stopped when the black figure grabbed at her sleeves. Her trembling legs buckled from her fatigue. Snap. Han Po’s attention turned to the strap on her Geta. Her broken shoe was proof that her luck was about to end. In front of her sat Little Poh, poking at a patch of dead grass. She reached out to the helpless figure, embracing him in her warm arms. ‘One last time,’ Han Po whispered. In a flash of silver light, the warmth ended in Little Poh’s alarming cries.