Real Dream...
Just a dream...
I had a dream, today; it wasn’t normal for me to dream with something, at least not on the last times (on the last four years, I mean). In my dream, I wasn’t the fifteen-year-old-girl I am now, but myself, with only my sweet eleven years old. I had gotten back on that day, a simple day, that changed my life forever; this was also the day I wished I never dreamed of, so I wouldn’t relive it.
There I was, just came home from school, tired and sitting on my bed, doing some homework, when I heard my mother throwing up on the bathroom beside my room, causing me nauseas; I tried not to give too much attention to that sound, so I wouldn’t be the next using that bathroom, filling it with all the food I had ingested, and the acid and disgusting bile, that scratched my throat every time it made its way to my mouth, searching for freedom. Fortunately, my mother stopped vomiting, making me sigh in relief, knowing that I wouldn’t have to face my worst nightmare: throwing up; little did I know that that was the beginning of a bigger nightmare.
I kept very entertained between letters, numbers and musical notes, until a big rumble was heard, scaring me so badly that I jumped on my bed, scribbling my notebook with the impact. I got up, and went to the corridor, thinking it had been my sister, but since I found her there, I assumed it hadn’t been her; neither of us knew what had happened, but it seemed that the strange noise had come from the kitchen, like if it had something too dangerous inside of it, that made her blow. When we got there, we found our mother sitting on the ground, next to the heavy and, until then, immovable marble table, where we had dinner together every day. My mother had fell, and the big crash had been provoked by the movement of that table, that had never been able to move, not even a millimeter. My sister went immediately to my mother, asking her if she was okay, and since she seemed confused, decided to ask my brother to call her, so he would talk to my mother. I was petrified, feeling the tears run through my face and the uninterrupted hiccups stealing me the whiffs of air that I needed so much, but couldn’t seem to find.
Eventually, my brother called, and my sister, right after a short explanation of what had happened, gave the cell phone to my mother, that, after some confused looks and lost words, gave it back to my sister; that’s the moment I lost my mother, while she was saying her famous last words:
- Sara, there’s a man on the phone called Nuno… he says he’s my son, but I don’t know him… I am afraid.
I run out of the kitchen, asking myself why was always me that stayed with the worst of life.
I woke up from that depressing and so realistic dream, feeling the muz full of tears I couldn’t contain; I looked at the bed beside mine, realizing my sister was still asleep, like an angel, and decided to see what time it was: it was four a.m.. I picked up my cell phone, and my earphones, and turned on the music player, constantly repeating the song that could only describe me on that moment, “This Is How I Disappear” by My Chemical Romance (a band that seemed to understand every single feeling I had inside of me). I turned onto the wall, crying, and repeating on my mind the last three words I heard my so beloved mother, whom I missed so much, say; four years had passed, and, from year to year, the pain seemed to get bigger, provoking me insomnias and, now, nightmares.«I am afraid…», oh, mom, me to… and a lot.
"And if you could talk to me tell me if it's so, that all the good girls go to heaven? Well heaven knows that without you is how I disappear..."
There I was, just came home from school, tired and sitting on my bed, doing some homework, when I heard my mother throwing up on the bathroom beside my room, causing me nauseas; I tried not to give too much attention to that sound, so I wouldn’t be the next using that bathroom, filling it with all the food I had ingested, and the acid and disgusting bile, that scratched my throat every time it made its way to my mouth, searching for freedom. Fortunately, my mother stopped vomiting, making me sigh in relief, knowing that I wouldn’t have to face my worst nightmare: throwing up; little did I know that that was the beginning of a bigger nightmare.
I kept very entertained between letters, numbers and musical notes, until a big rumble was heard, scaring me so badly that I jumped on my bed, scribbling my notebook with the impact. I got up, and went to the corridor, thinking it had been my sister, but since I found her there, I assumed it hadn’t been her; neither of us knew what had happened, but it seemed that the strange noise had come from the kitchen, like if it had something too dangerous inside of it, that made her blow. When we got there, we found our mother sitting on the ground, next to the heavy and, until then, immovable marble table, where we had dinner together every day. My mother had fell, and the big crash had been provoked by the movement of that table, that had never been able to move, not even a millimeter. My sister went immediately to my mother, asking her if she was okay, and since she seemed confused, decided to ask my brother to call her, so he would talk to my mother. I was petrified, feeling the tears run through my face and the uninterrupted hiccups stealing me the whiffs of air that I needed so much, but couldn’t seem to find.
Eventually, my brother called, and my sister, right after a short explanation of what had happened, gave the cell phone to my mother, that, after some confused looks and lost words, gave it back to my sister; that’s the moment I lost my mother, while she was saying her famous last words:
- Sara, there’s a man on the phone called Nuno… he says he’s my son, but I don’t know him… I am afraid.
I run out of the kitchen, asking myself why was always me that stayed with the worst of life.
I woke up from that depressing and so realistic dream, feeling the muz full of tears I couldn’t contain; I looked at the bed beside mine, realizing my sister was still asleep, like an angel, and decided to see what time it was: it was four a.m.. I picked up my cell phone, and my earphones, and turned on the music player, constantly repeating the song that could only describe me on that moment, “This Is How I Disappear” by My Chemical Romance (a band that seemed to understand every single feeling I had inside of me). I turned onto the wall, crying, and repeating on my mind the last three words I heard my so beloved mother, whom I missed so much, say; four years had passed, and, from year to year, the pain seemed to get bigger, provoking me insomnias and, now, nightmares.«I am afraid…», oh, mom, me to… and a lot.
"And if you could talk to me tell me if it's so, that all the good girls go to heaven? Well heaven knows that without you is how I disappear..."
♠ ♠ ♠
thanks to all of you who read this, it took me a lot of courage to make this a short story :slove all my dear readers (: