You sometimes find the oddest things

When you look through your computer's harddrive. Here's a piece I forgotten that I had. If you're going to pass it aeround, let me know. Cross-posted to Buku Contengan as well.

“Mama! Mama!” the little girl ran to her mother’s arms. Her mother picked her up and held her close.

The child was perfect in every way, from the ways her eyes shone with love for her Mother, to her full smile and healthy cheeks. Sounds of laughter and happiness filled the air, but from far away, there was the sound of weeping. While the little girl, dressed all in white, was being cradled by Mother, there were people in black standing around a coffin on a bright summer’s day.

The minister’s eulogy, while eloquent, did nothing to dispel the listeners’ grief at the passing of a young child. The mother was especially loud in her grief, for the child had been her favourite. When the eldest child came up to speak about his sibling, a hush fell over the crowd. His voice broke, yet he kept on speaking about his sibling, not about the last few minutes of her life, but about the joy and hope she had brought to their lives.

The body of the child was buried, and the rest of the funeral was simple. According to the wishes of the family, they spoke not about how the child died, but how she lived. The child’s siblings gathered around their mother, whose grief was inconsolable. She wailed, even as two figured walked up to the grave unseen.

“Mummy…” the little girl wanted to go to her mother, but the Mother held her. “Why does Mummy suffer?” she asked the Mother.

“The Father wants her to a be a catalyst. He wants her to start moving the world she lives in. Your mummy is a very special person, daughter. She will help save other little girls from bad men,” the Mother held the child close to her.

“Can I help my mummy?”

“Yes. You can hold her up when she’s down, cheer her, and most importantly, remind her never to give up. For when all is done, the Father will give you to her as a Reward,” the Mother spoke very gently to the child. “But now, you must learn how to be an Angel, for you must look after your mummy now,” the Mother bore the child away.

In respectful memory of Nurul Huda Abdul Ghani and other child rape victims.

*Bows*