Fourleaf Clover
Senior Member
"I am sorry. This is for your own good... Goodbye, Periwinkle..." a warm, soft, soothing voice says. It has an underlying tone to it though, sadness, maybe a hint of anger.
"Mummy?" I hear a small child say, her voice worried. I can't see what is happening, there is only a dark fuzziness, like a television with no signal. I can only hear the voices.
"Hush... It's going to be alright," the warm voice says. "I'll see you again, someday, I promise."
At this point, I awaken. It always ends like this. Those two words 'I promise' signal the end of my sleep. For the past six years, I've been waking up to the sound of her voice. My mother's voice.
I stare at the ceiling of the little hut that I call home, and I can hear the familiar drip-drip-drip of water through the hole in the roof. The snores of the man I call my father can be heard from the other room. At least the man who says he is my father. There's no proof that he is. We look nothing alike, but he's always claimed that I look almost exactly like my mother. Even if we aren't related, he loves me like I was his own, and I love him too.
I hear a creak from the room next door, and know that it is my father waking up to make breakfast. I wonder whether to help him, and seeing as I've got nothing better to do, clamber out of bed. Across the room is a small mirror, with a thin layer of dust coating it like snow on the ground. I gaze at my reflection, first my pale face, with my tired eyes and thin lips, my cheekbones showing slightly, from hunger. Then to the clothes I wear, a thin rag that barely covers me, which I call my nightdress. I look like a ghost, or a zombie, shivering in the cold. 'It's going to be alright...' I say to myself, as I turn and walk out of my room. 'It's going to be alright...'
"Mummy?" I hear a small child say, her voice worried. I can't see what is happening, there is only a dark fuzziness, like a television with no signal. I can only hear the voices.
"Hush... It's going to be alright," the warm voice says. "I'll see you again, someday, I promise."
At this point, I awaken. It always ends like this. Those two words 'I promise' signal the end of my sleep. For the past six years, I've been waking up to the sound of her voice. My mother's voice.
I stare at the ceiling of the little hut that I call home, and I can hear the familiar drip-drip-drip of water through the hole in the roof. The snores of the man I call my father can be heard from the other room. At least the man who says he is my father. There's no proof that he is. We look nothing alike, but he's always claimed that I look almost exactly like my mother. Even if we aren't related, he loves me like I was his own, and I love him too.
I hear a creak from the room next door, and know that it is my father waking up to make breakfast. I wonder whether to help him, and seeing as I've got nothing better to do, clamber out of bed. Across the room is a small mirror, with a thin layer of dust coating it like snow on the ground. I gaze at my reflection, first my pale face, with my tired eyes and thin lips, my cheekbones showing slightly, from hunger. Then to the clothes I wear, a thin rag that barely covers me, which I call my nightdress. I look like a ghost, or a zombie, shivering in the cold. 'It's going to be alright...' I say to myself, as I turn and walk out of my room. 'It's going to be alright...'
