A Flower’s Tears

		(c) 2000, Wirewolf


  She knelt in the dewy grass that morning.  The sun was 
raising it’s cloud streaked face over the far hills, its lowest 
edge ragged against the outline of the trees.  Birds were singing 
in the graveyard, telling the spirits it was time to rest.

  She saw a single flower pressed against the cold stone 
marker.  Dew beaded along its petals, making it look as though 
it were crying, shedding tears for the loss of her beloved.

  Nearby, a man was standing silently with his cub, calmly 
regarding another headstone.  His son saw her, watched her, 
intent.  The cheetah cub walked to her, ignoring the other 
graves he passed.  His father watched, alert.

  She did nothing when the boy sat next to her.  He could see 
she was crying, but she made no sound.  The mask of black fur 
around her eyes was glistening with her grief, her black and 
gray ringed tail lying under her, pressed between her legs to 
emerge from between her knees.  She held it’s tip in her hands 
and squeezed it without realizing.

  "You don’t have to be sad," said the cheetah cub to the 
raccoon woman.  His light, sure voice was filled with gentle 
confidence.

  "I miss him terribly," she said, her words faintly trembling.  "I 
loved him so much."

  The cub thought about this for a moment.  He looked up 
briefly, as though looking for approval.

  "He’s in heaven now.  He’s watching you, you know."

  ‘So serious,’ she thought of the cub.  His softly spoken words 
gave her no comfort.  The idea of her mate having left her for 
some fabled place of peace and beauty could not console her.  
"No," she said.  She touched the ground by her knees.  "He’s 
here.  Sleeping."

  Again the cub considered her words.  He glanced at his father, 
who watched without comment or intervention.  "My sire says 
genemorphs have souls, just like humans.  He says when they 
made us, they made another heaven.  One just for genemorphs, 
like us."

  "He does?" she said to have a response.  It pained her to hear 
the cub’s simple faith.  She had none of her own, and struggled 
every day to see the light around her.

  "Of course.  He says they did it to say they were sorry for 
being mean to us all the time."

  It was like a knife in her heart, hearing such words from a 
cub’s mouth.  She gasped at the unexpected pain that flickered 
through her.  Her eyes squeezed shut.  In that darkness she saw 
blood, flashing lights, a dozen angry faces around the broken 
body of her mate.  Her throat closed off, choking back a small 
cry of distress.  Her hand instinctively reached out and clutched 
at the cub’s shoulder.

  Alarmed, the father took two steps closer.  He stopped when 
he saw her arm tremble, her fingers curl loosely through the fur 
of the cub’s shoulder.  He watched, waited.

  Once the memory of her cherished mate’s face had 
quicksilvered through her mind, tugging at her slowly mending 
heart, she looked at the cub sitting next to her.  His fur was 
getting as matted as hers in the wet grass.  She was astounded 
to see he looked like the pictures she’d seen of her mate when 
he was a cub.  The same markings, the same tousled fur, the 
same glint of underlying compassion in his eyes.  She glanced 
at the sire, who bore only a passing resemblance to his cub.  He 
nodded solemnly.

  Looking back to the cub, she had trouble speaking.  She felt 
overwhelmed, as though she were being spoken to by the 
whole of the universe and could only grasp the simplest words.

  "So he’s in heaven now?" she managed to whisper, her ears 
wanting to lay back.  The cub nodded, never taking his eyes 
from her face.

  "And he’s watching me?  Right now?"  Another nod.

  "And he still loves you," said the child.

  Silence.  Her heart seemed to beat easier.  She wondered what 
other things the cub might reveal.

  "He does?"

  The cheetah cub lightly touched her knee, barely ruffling the 
fur.  "More than the morning sun or the falling rain."

  A new warmth filled her.  She pictured her mate, smiling as 
he often did.  Her heart knew peace, if only for a time.  She 
smiled at the cub.

  "Thank you."

  The cub smiled in return and walked back to his sire.  As the 
two strolled away, the boy said, "She doesn’t really believe 
yet."

  The father nodded, flicking his tail.  "She will," he told his 
child.  "In time, she will."


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This text is (c) 2000, Wirewolf
It may be downloaded and printed only with copyright 
information intact.
It may not be distributed without author's permission.
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wirewolf_66@yahoo.com
wirewolf@usit.net
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