The love of a parent. A story by Logan

Down the corridor, step by step. In the dark the path is known. Many years of practice to get to mothers room.
The huge house has many rooms, each passed by as the steps are taken.
Each room has a door, each door is open, each open door reveals a dim light. Light by the moon. An eary light in
which the shadows dance. The light dances from the blade, the knife turns in the hand. Down the corridor, step by step.

In the room. Mother turns in her sleep, murmuring the thoughts of her day. Her dreams hiding the terror by her side.
She has forgotten her duty, her charge.....her child. In her bliss she has brought forgetfulness and pain. She
has made the young cry.

Clouds pass by outside. The moonlight dances sliver by sliver across the room. The little hand is raised, tears
form. But they do not fall. The small face is empty, it is forgotten, it is hollow. The blade falls. A thud, an exhale of air, silent. No expression. The shadow of a cloud passes, everything flickers for a moment.
The little arm raises again, comes down again. This time a splash sound. Something wet hits her face and starts
to drip slowly off her chin. Third, forth, fifth, then the tears drop, first rolling then streaming then falling ...
to the floor, mixing with blood. Her being falls to the floor, absorbed by the stain-proof carpet, drop by drop.

The sun shined its rays through the window, a window in need of some cleaning. The effect, a yellow glare on the content
of the room. And in the new day a release is found. She stares at her mother with deadened eyes. With her back against the
wall staring at the soaked bed, her lifeless body glowing with relief. The bloodied blade in her hand...the tears on her face, drying in the heat of the new day. Her life soaked into the carpet, drop by drop.

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Im starting to blame the music!
the words pop in and i write them down somewhere.