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“Dodo, L’Enfant do, L’Enfant dormira bien vite Dodo, l’enfant do L’enfant dormira bientôt. Une poule blanche Est là dans la grange. Qui va faire un etit coco. Pour l’enfant qui va fair’ dodo. Dodo, l’enfant do, L’enfant dormira bien vite Dodo, l’enfant do L’enfant dormira bientôt. Tout le monde est. sage dans le voisinage Il EST l’heure d’aller dormer Le sommeil va bientôt venir.”
“Mum?” I called out, my eyes fluttering open. I was lying on a wide sea of down and cotton that hugged my body and caressed my skin, making me want to roll around in it, and anyone who hurried me would get a Bruce All-Mighty-esque tantrum. The bed with 4 pillars on each corner and was hung with pale blue gossamer and purple silk gathered in semi-circles all around the edges. I’m dreaming I can tell, but for some reason this feels incredibly real.
The quilts are incredibly substantial against my skin, and every time I move I feel like I’m flouting on clouds! But I have a nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach, screaming at me, not to trust this. Not one little bit.
Reluctantly and with great sacrifice, I pushed away the quilts and looked around the room, searching for an exit of some kind, but there was nothing surrounding me, and I mean literally nothing. It was just like in those dumb ass movies were some one dies and they’re sent upwards and onwards to a bright ass room and end up dressed like a freakin’ extra from “One Flew Over The Coo Coo Nest”!
Wait... Shit! I’m dead aren’t I? “Fuck Fuckedy Fucked Fuck Fuck!” I mumbled under my breath, scratching the bad of my head. “What the hell do I do now?” Why am I talking to myself? “Because there’s nobody else around dumbass.” Ok this is not good.
“Dodo, L’Enfant do, L’Enfant dormira bien vite Dodo, l’enfant do L’enfant dormira bientôt.”
Why am I hearing that?
“Une poule blanche Est là dans la grange. Qui va faire un etit coco Pour l’enfant qui va fair’ dodo.”
I followed the familiar sound, to where I have no idea, but I was going with my gut for some reason, so let’s just roll with it.
“Dodo, l’enfant do, L’enfant dormira bien vite Dodo, l’enfant do L’enfant dormira bientôt. Tout le monde est.”
Wait, I think I know that song. From years ago though, something my mother would sing to me in the morning and at nap time. "Sleep, baby sleep, child sleep quickly"
I kept walking, following the soothing lullaby, my feet softy pressing down bare foot on a firm yet with a slight glutinous consistency, so my feet sank a few centimetres each time I planted the next foot.
I kept on walking until I slammed straight into a wall. “OW, Sonuvabitch! That hurt!” I shouted wiping away the small amount of blood that trickled from my nose and hitting at the wall like a whiny bitch.
“Ma belle fille, what have I told you about cussing?” Mum? I looked all around myself but I couldn’t see her anywhere. Ok It’s official, I’m finally hearing voices I wouldn’t be surprised If by now there was a little Jenifer Lopez running around watching horses get sliced apart in my mind, God that movie sucked.
“Only at ball games?” I offered, “But since I’m kind of talking to myself it would appear that I can say anything and not get in trouble for it, since I don’t believe in physical punishments.” I pointed out to myself, and the apparent voice of my mother.
YOU ARE READING
The Lost Daughter of Thaumaturgy
FantasyGabe is 17 and has lived her entire life on the run, from who? she doesn't know. Now that she's all alone, her mother gone, she must keep running from her unknown enemy. Little does she know, her enemies are her Destiny.
