I had written it as one of my first assignment for Philomene Long. I
just made some changes, to make it something special for Mother's Day:
It is dark.
Lying under my bed, touching the thick harsh wooden board that holds the mattress, touching the cold metallic bed frame, listening to the drum-like sound of artilleries aimed at invisible enemies. The darkness of night blankets the absurdity of the situation, and still knowing that does not help me to calm down. I lower my hands to the ground, pressing the floor, hard, as if I am trying to dissolve into it, to transform into cold grey vapor--smoke and ashes. My body, my fingers, my back, feel numb, but still not as numb I dream of becoming.
The door to my room opens, and a warm hand touches my foot, a hand like my mother’s. She invites herself into to my space, joining me in my shelter, lying down by my side, grabbing my shoulders, trying to act normal under the bed. It is 3:00 a.m.
We are not talking.
She holds my body tight, melting away my fears. She says nothing, but she pushes me closer to the wall, closer and closer with each sound of explosion. I feel burst of her breath on my skin. Her hands, her belly, her legs, her hair tickle my face. The ground scratches my ears, and the right side of my cheek and my right hand--they’re all detached, as if they belong to someone else. I am void, empty of feeling. I am shrunken to the point of insignificance, worthless, similar to the mysterious creatures hidden under the bed with me, those crushed under my weight, penetrating my body, flooding into the flow of my blood.
A black creeping insect crawls up my nose, into my mouth, down my throat. I am touching monsters somewhere at the end of the world where I am turning into dust, into a germ, into an unknown, paralyzing disease. All hope lost on the way.
I grab my mother’s hands harder; her hands disappear in mine. Time doesn’t move. The silence before the next explosion lasts an eternity.
I turn my head, looking at my mother. Her eyes, like fire. I listen to her smile rustling like joy. To her heart pounding against mine. Darkness is fading into blinding light. My fears, all destroyed. Her eyes shine in the darkness, like a mirror. I look at the vague image behind my own reflection, distinguish the shape of a monster with burning eyes, shivering the silence, brightening the night, breaking the mirrors, razing the walls, a monster eating us both alive.
Should I wake from this nostalgic dream into the nightmare of living, or should I give in to the hungry wild melancholic monster while I am being hugged, touched, loved?
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