Generations Expectation's | 8th member of BTS

5

| Korean Words meaning |

Hyung(s); At the end of a name or used alone is the MALE honorific of addressing an older brother.

Anything in regular font = Korean

Anything in Italics = English

Anything in Bold = Spanish

Anything in Bold & Italics = Any other language besides Spanish, Korean, or English

Ae Cha's POV

"Ae Cha, baby?" a sweet, tender voice whispered and filled my head.
My eyes open and adjust to the swirling colors of the sky. Pink creams and orange whisps of sun paint a sunsetting kissed sky. There's the precious melody of seagulls singing and low, humming crashing waves. Everything is so clear, so surreal, but yet I feel like I'm under an illusion where everything is brighter than it needs to be and smeared in blankets of thin color. I don't know where I am.
I find my body moving, sitting up, without any actions of my own. Im on a beach, an empty, yellow sandy beach. I can see silhouettes of far-off and colorful homes on the horizon. The sun is low to the water. Everything is tranquil and at peace. All but me, who goes sick and stiffens seeing the sight of my Mother sitting beside me.

It's her. It's really her.
It's her long, whispy black hair- blowing in the soft sea breeze, a pink hairband tying back her grown-out bangs. Her face was sun-kissed from a day on the beach, her lips plump and pink with tint. She smiles at me gently. Her eyes crinkle, but her face doesn't wrinkle. She looks as young and unaging as the day I lost her.  Her frame is tiny and trim as she sits, comfy and relaxed on an old large spotted beach blanket I remember she donated years before she passed. A white sundress held and hug her beautiful frame. Oh god, how I wanted more to reach out and touch her. Feel her warmth and love within my hands once more but I couldn't. It was like before, I had no control over my actions.

"You ready to get some ice cream?" she asks me, her words giddy and overdramatized. She leans over to me before she playfully leaves a bombardment of kisses on me. I giggle.
Then Im aware of the sound of my laughs. Small, childish. I look down at my hands and gasp seeing them the size of a puggy toddler's hands.
Then it hits me. I remember this day. I was two. We were on vacation, I think somewhere in Italy. Mom was touring Europe. Mom had taken a day to take me out, it was one of the first real memories I could grasp from an early age. A core memory. My hair whipped around me. I felt seagulls bread and mom dipped my feet at the end of the sea-foamed waves. She fed me ice cream and Caprese sandwiches. We were simply mother and daughter. Pictures she took from this trip would litter our living room and her own scrapbook I would find long after her passing.
This was a memory.
This wasn't real.

"Your right. It isn't real" My mother says, pulling away from me. No longer giving me kisses. Her face so light and full of love drops into a dark sight. A grim expression. It scares me. 
Before I can even process what's going on, the sea is shifting and rising. The waves are becoming further up shore. Their smacks are louder and windy. The sun disappears from the sky and the sea becomes a sickly dark green depth around us. The water encircles our blanket and then were being pulled out to sea. No land to see. No nearby homes. No noise. It's dark. It vague.

I was still just a baby. Helpless and miniature. My small swimsuit was cold around me. I shivered as my mom turned away from me. I watched, in real-time as my mother's body shriveled before me on our diminutive, set-adrift boat. I watch in horror as the back of her shifted in front of me. I screamed and yelled for help but there was no one. It was just us and no one could hear us out here alone in the sea. I was just a baby, I couldn't do anything to help her. I watch her crumple down. Her hair fell off in parts and turned an erk gray. Her skinny frame absorbed into her bones. Her dress became baggy, then blue, then it was a hospital gown. I stared in dead shock as the old and engrained image of my mother lay before me. The nightmare that continued to haunt me.