your mother died trying to protect you and your brother.
Flying high and soaring low, of magnificence, a necessity; a symbol of pride, a sign of hope. I knew this bird, once. Stripped away from all her feathers, sacrificed for a cause unknown and forgotten.
I knew this bird, once. She was my mother.
'Mom's just hurt. Mom's brought to the hospital, you said, - '
That’s how they explained it to me. According to a children’s book, full of living colour, - a scene that was not there and yet so relevant to my story. Our story. Had they made any attempt to tell me straight, none would’ve known what happened. All I knew was, I would’ve less likely ended up being a mess. + A GLIMPSE OF LIVING COLOUR, LET ME TAKE YOU FOR A SWIRL, YES, A TALE IN LIVING COLOUR, - for a black & white damned world. - Do you understand? How hard it is to lose your mother at such an age? My childhood rushed forward, and forward, and forward - I don’t even think I had one, really. Narvi was a great support - truthfully, I think he only kept himself sane by playing the role of the elder brother.
'She was just sleeping, you said, - you said, - '
I would’ve said it was dreadfully dramatic and all that you ever wished for to cry and cry for nights, but honestly, her death did not serve her right. Killed in the night as she carried us away; we were only spared because the darkness had been fed with enough death already. The only thing one might suggest sadistically entertaining is that both Narvi and I saw her die right on the spot, frightened, livid, our mother shamelessly taken away from us.
' no. you said it yourself, so you can't
turn it back now. she'll never be dead.
dededos
vaporwave
kaledo-art
snowghoul
annaxmalina
romaincrisis
jbbartram-illu
