Chapter Text
It’s been a long time since I’ve dreamed. Not the dreams you think of when you want to become a pilot or a surgeon. When the darkness overtakes me, I see nothing, feel nothing, only cold. And then the sun peeks through my lashes, and the next day has begun.
My days are similar. I trudge down the stairs, tugging on my left sock, grab a piece of toast that somehow finishes at the perfect time for me to bounce the tab up and catch the toast with my opposite hand, shoving the hot bread into my mouth. It may come out at the perfect time, like the ticking of a bomb, but the toast is always black around the middle and edges. I don’t mind, though.
Mom starts tutting her tongue at me, grabbing the toast out of my mouth and leaving my jaw open as she slides a butter knife over it, butter spreading smoothly over the surface. She shoves it back into my mouth, slapping my cheeks with a smile on her tired face.
That’s the first thing I notice…
She looks more tired than yesterday. Her face appears smaller and more slim. Why haven’t I noticed that before?
I debate grabbing her face to look at it better, but just then Natalie comes running down the stairs, ignoring Mom’s attempt at giving her food. She starts digging in the basket by the stairs, her face contorted in anger. Or is it annoyance?
In my seventeen years, I figure I should have gotten better at social cues, but that skill has not graced me.
It is weird, though. Every morning I go to school, but it passes in a blur. Bits and flashes. Some people’s faces stand out in the crowd, like Nat’s, or a teacher who is so old my parents probably went to school with him, teaching them. But other than that, nothing.
It’s normal, though. I figure most kids have that, too. A little hidey-hole in their brain to escape while they’re at the prison that is labeled school.
“Natalie, honey, what is wrong that you have to undo all of the cleaning I’ve done?” Mom looks out into the distance like she’s looking at a crowd, her face exasperated.
“Where is my phone!”
I jump off the counter, opening a cabinet where Natalie’s phone lies in the middle of glass cups. Snatching it, I stride up to her, a cheeky smile on my face, a feeling of pride settling in my chest. I hold my hand out for her to grab the device, but she ignores me.
Then Mom walks up, Nat’s phone in her hand, and tosses it at the girl.
I look down at my outstretched hand…
Empty.
That’s weird.