Celia: Tragedy 1

Have you ever been so happy you could die?

How about just die?

I have had both.  Sadly they weren't the same moment.

My name was Celia LeBlanc when I met him.  I was not but 13 when he won my heart.  His disheveled hair sitting in front of me in the schoolhouse.  I don't believe he ever took notice of me until I was 16 but he had always told me it was much earlier than that.  

I remember every sweet word he ever told me.  Every sweet touch ever laid upon me by him.  I would give the world for his forgiveness; to hear his gentle voice and feel his loving embrace.  

He picked up a job at the factory.  I took care of the home near the lake.

Then the economy turned.    

He took on as many hours as he could get, but the money still didn't get us far.  The day came when I took what little change we had to the store for bread but the price had risen out of what I could afford.

I was offered a deal.  Something I couldn't turn down if we were to get by.  An exchange.  Something I had to give in order to be able to get.  And I did.

I did it knowing that it was breaking the marital bond with him but to take care of him.

We ate beef stew that night before I gave myself to him.  Totally and completely, unlike what occurred earlier that same day.

This continued until the day my woman's blood failed to flow.  My husband was elated.  I wanted it to be his, but my mind was clouded with the troubled thoughts of what I'd done.

He still kept food coming into our home while the baby grew inside of me.  He was eager to see the baby just as my husband.

I hated him.  I hated me.

Then the baby was born.  There was no denying that this was my husband's child.  My heart was now home to two; my husband and my child.

My husband returned back to the factory for work when he came to call.  Clearly unhappy about supporting me during pregnancy when the child was not his.  

He took the infant from the bassinet and left my home.  I followed after him, screaming and pleading as he walked to the freshly frozen lake.

I froze as he placed my child on the ice and pushed, sliding my baby across the ice.

A scream so inhuman sounding I wouldn't believe it came from me except for having done it.  

My feet slipping and sliding across the ice as I rushed to my child.  I fall forward and hear a cracking sound.  No time.  I shuffle closer on my hands and knees as the ice shifts under my weight.  People have left their homes and surround the lake's edge.  

Almost there.  My legs drop into the ice of the water.  I push my child towards the edge away from myself and the breaking edge.  Relief as he makes it safe into arms.  

I attempt to pull myself up from the water when the ice under my hands breaks loose and I am dropped into the icy water.

Bringing myself towards the surface I only find ice.  I keep moving myself and searching for the opening until my movements stop.

I once was happy.

I once died.

Please forgive me.

I don't know for how long I was dead before I returned.  

Seconds?  Minutes?  Days?  Weeks?  Months?  Years?  Decades?  More?  

When I did rise out from the water, the cold, the ice was when I called myself Celia LeBlanc once more.  I don't deserve to associate with his family's name for what I've done.