She cupped his young face in her trembling hands. Her vision blurred by tears and her naked body stained by blood. He looked at his mother. His mother - he loved her so much - his mother. The knife pointed downwards now, but still his fingers clasped firmly around the grip. The man lay on the floor, his trousers down his ankles.

“Run, my love.” She whispered. “Run and never look back.” A tear now slowly slid across his face as well, but she quickly wiped it with her thumb, leaving behind a smear of blood.

“Mama.” He said.

Splinters flew around as the boot came crashing through the door, accompanied by the curses of men who did not seem to fear God. The oil lamp was knocked of the table and crashed on the floor, spreading fire as quickly as the moment for farewell vanished.

“RUN” she screamed and the boy ran. Through the kitchen and the backdoor, scrambling through the back-alley. He had dropped the knife, but he never looked back. The gunshot reverberated in the otherwise quiet afternoon, scared birds up into the sky and broke his heart.

It wasn’t before long when the curses started to fade and the dense woods gave the small boy an advantage over it’s burly chasers. Thomas Burke was no more. Nor was his mother. Nor was his home.

And he ran.