Every so often, I dream of a friend I don't recognize. A mother who isn't my mother. A feeling I've never felt. It's all so strange, so foreign, yet familiar in a way I can't describe.
It frightens me, this dream. So much so that I wake in a cold sweat, crying until my mother, who is my mother, comes to comfort me. She sits with me, cradling me in her arms as we bathe in the pale light of the moon above, which comforts me more than she ever could. Soon, my breathing steadies, and she tucks me back into bed, placing a gentle kiss on my forehead, and walking to the door.
My father is standing in the frame, obscured by the light from the stairwell, his silhouette grand. My mother joins him, and as they wrap their arms around one another, I see my other, stranger mother again, but only for a second. She looks...sad. Alone.
As the door closes behind them, the dark envelopes me as it had before, it's pitch black claws grasping at my sheets, my books, the walls, everything, until all that was left was the comforting light of the moon, peering through my window.
YOU ARE READING
Garden of Embers
AventuraFos can remember. He remembers what he ate for breakfast, what he wore the day before, who he is. But occasionally, his memories don't align. They criss and cross, spinning webs of contradictions and inconsistencies. What's real, and what's not? Whe...
