Melany Fellington is a young girl who lives in poverty in a changed world. She doesn't have what others have the room to have, but family made what she has more than enough. During substandard times of oppression, a fatal interference threatens her...
Author's note: A little warning in advance...this chapter is unedited. Please bear with me again until I have the time to edit it, being more busy.
I know that y'all are probably very tired of me saying this. I love you all very very very much! I just had to say it, but I hope that you all enjoy this next chapter. 🤍
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(Thursday, November 1st) (6:36 a.m.)
Windows of white wooden frames granted the progressing illuminate light of a rising warmth of the yellow sun as rays up into a vaulted ceiling and the cabin themed bedroom, warmer rays slowly shaping light and shadows as the white furniture and a king bed became subjects to its producing molecular properties, this bedroom in my closest friend's house that I would live and spend time in when Olson was a life growing in the confines of my stomach and after he was born into this world, a life that will now continue to grow in this world as he is the son, my son that I will continue to raise and love as I did before.
And in the time passing between the before and after, in the time in between when I couldn't raise him and after I could once again, Melany looked out for him. She cared for him as her own, just as I wished for in my dying moments, in the worries that I had maternally, I pleaded with her to as I didn't want to go anywhere that they weren't.
I worried that Olson needed someone just as kind hearted and nurturing as me to care for him as I did, and Melany was the first person that came to my mind in limited times, in closing times, I did not even come to think about what I would make her bear as she already bears so much, that she sometimes doesn't notice how much that truly sits on her shoulders as she bears the adjusted weight of these things her whole life, this weight, and these weights that has become apart of her and the weight that she mindlessly carries in the strength that she carries with her.
I didn't think about how much of a weight that I would put on her, and she fostered and cared for my child tipped with not an ounce of enduring strain of having to care for a child that is not her own, but wordlessly and without complaint, she cared for him as if he was, and protected him as if he was, and ensued the depending and parental walls of security that only a parental figure can, but most certainly she built up the walls that only a mother is capable of building with her altruistic hands from the very ground of Olson's world and up into the weightlessness of near tangible clouds and of his skies in my absence, and I admire her with eyes that can visualize and see nothing, but who I love, whom I love, and nothing but who I fell and continue to fall in love with, this feeling of falling into love that I cannot help but to keep falling into love with her altruistic strength, her willpower and the power that she holds in her bones while she chooses love over hate every time, to love as she loved and loves my son.
