Sweet Dreams

Prologue:

"Scarlett, help me take some of these bags of yours inside!" I heard my dad call from the car as I skipped towards the entrance gate of my home.

I laughed and skipped onwards, not caring about the hundreds of bags I must've left for my dad to carry. But, then again, it was his choice to take me shopping and as a thirteen year old girl, I felt almost obliged to allow him to carry my clothes and shoes inside for me.

How simple it was to be a thirteen year old; no worries (apart from boys), no real stress of school, no bullies. It was heaven. Everything felt like it was in it's rightful place, and I had never been so content and happy with my life.

My dad slammed the car boot down behind me, I could tell he was struggling by the grunts he was making whilst doing so. Still, no cares were given.

As I came closer to the house, I felt uncomfortable. Things weren't right, I could feel it. 

The curtains were closed, as were the blinds, which was strange due to the fact that it had just gone three in the afternoon and the summer sun was still shining brightly in the sky. The curtains were only closed when we were going to sleep at night.

When I went to unlock the door, with the keys that I stole from dad, I found that the door was already open, though I was sure that we locked it as we left and my mum definitely wouldn't have unlocked it for any reason.

I looked towards my dad for some sort of reassurance, but he didn't seem aware of anything that struck to be out of the ordinary, so I continued my way into the house, stuffing the key into my jean pocket.

It was then that I realised.

The stillness.

The quietness.

The emptiness.

It felt like the quiet after the storm.

Again, I looked towards my dad for reassurance and I know he felt it too. His eyes glistened with fear as he dropped the shopping bags onto the floor. Clothes flew onto the white carpet of our living room, though I didn't care to pick them up.

"Lila!" my dad called, but there was no response from my mum. 

Again, he called, "Lila! Lila are you okay?". Again, he got no response.

Dad  turned to me and placed a hand firmly on my shoulder. "Stay here."

I stood frozen, just as my dad told me too. I watched as he ran in and out of the living room; first to the kitchen, then to the dining room, then to the downstairs bathroom. Each time he returned, the more lost and frightened he looked.

Finally, after concluding that mum wasn't downstairs, he ran up the stairs with me at his heels.

We ran straight for the bedroom, and there on the red, satin bed sheets lay my mum asleep. She looked so peaceful as she slept. I felt my heart relax a little, and fall slowly from my throat. 

My dad didn't have the same reaction.

He ran towards my mother and shook her by her shoulders, shouting her name, kissing her lips, crying. Not even a whisper came from my mum's mouth. 

"Stay with your mother while I call an ambulance," my dad ordered, taking out his phone and calling 999. It was then that I realised that she wasn't sleeping; she was unconscious and dying.

I sat with my mum, watching her chest rise and fall so painfully slow. 

I placed my hand lightly on her chest, feeling the failing beats of her heart as it pumped blood around her body. She was fighting.