You are lying in a hospital bed, staring up at the grey ceiling. The woman sitting next to you is your mother, a worried look plastered on her wrinkled face. You examine her closely. Was she expecting you to say something?

You blink.


You had zoned out. Again! No wonder your mother is always so worried about you. You curse yourself, unsure what to say. Your mother’s frown deepens, placing a warm hand on your cheek.

“You will be fine.”

You look at her, eyebrows furrowing. “Fine” didn’t really help your situation. It had been a week (or was it 2 days. 3? It could have been a month) since you were put into the hospital. You had passed out, during your own birthday party, and you had been having sudden “fits” (your mother called it) of amnesia. You couldn’t remember what had happened before you came to the hospital but your sister had told you that you had “quite a fall”. Or was it your brother who had told you?

You blink again. Your mother’s hand was still on your cheek.

“Sorry, Mom,” You say, “I keep on zoning out.”

“Do not worry about it, my dear,” She says, removing her hand, “It happens.”

You turn toward your night stand. Sitting there is a pie you recognize as a cherry pie your mother used to make when you were a child. How long had it been there?

You itch at the bandages around your head.  Your mother is looking distressed now.

“My child,” She says, “You used to talk so much. Why have you become so silent?”

You blush. Did you really talk so much? Were you really so silent now?

“S-sorry,” You stutter, “I don’t really have much to say.”

It was true. You didn’t. You barely remembered anything that interested you, nowadays, so what would you talk about? You don’t want to tell your mother this. You’ll worry her even more.

You find your mother kissing you on your forehead, saying goodnight. It was night already? You feel light-headed. It feels like time is running so far ahead of you.

The door closes behind your mother and you sit on the side of the bed, eating the pie. It tastes cold and sour but you don’t mind; it reminds you of your mother. You cringe at the thought. Your mother is nothing like this pie; she’s warm and sweet.

You put the plate back on the stand, holding your head in your hands. You want to cry. Your mind is floating in blank memories of your family, your friends and…yourself? You barely know anything about yourself and your interests or who you even were. You feel pricks of nostalgia eat away at your heart. Did this ever happen before? Does your family suffer like this all the time, not knowing if their child or their sibling will ever remember them?

How old are you? Where do you live? What is your name? What’s your favourite colour? Who is your best friend? What school do you go to? What kind of food do you like?

Who are you?

You lay down on your bed, burying your face into the sweet-smelling pillow. You want to drift back into sleep and forget about everything again.

But you feel like you won’t this time.

“You will be fine.”

You close your eyes.

Grey, you remember.

Your favourite colour is grey.



(Based off an image prompt.) Written by: ExpandingView (me!)

Escape. A word that I wanted to grasp yet I could not reach. The tunnel did not end yet I could see the light at the end of the tunnel. It took me years to find it. Years of loneliness. Years in the dark. Years of being shattered. Years of being enslaved.

Beaten, broken and pale, I took my first step into freedom.

The sound of one hundred dancing children filled my ears. Trees covered the skies, letting only shoots of light into our enclave. Flowers of all kinds painted the canvas on the fresh, fertile soil. Balloons floated in the air, welcoming me. The swing set creaked, a lone child swinging on it, no longer having to share what was his. Confetti and streamers fell from the sky, like snow on Christmas day. Dogs yipped happily, rushing to play with the children. A lake rushed past me and children on ships sailed with it, chanting about their freedom. Birds chirped and the sounds of their songs melted with the innocent voices of the adolescent. Swing sets, pirate ships, roller coasters, tree houses and all kinds of playthings hypnotized the children. However, a mighty machine towered them all and small figures hung from it.

Ah yes. This was where I always wished to be.

The Playground.

The place I longed to return to ever since I was born. A home. A safe place for all those who hadn’t had one.

“Go on,” said a warm voice.

I turned around. My eyes started to well up. A woman stood in front of me, beautiful and complete. A light blue dress flowed in the wind. Her black hair was short and a single flower was pinned onto it. A soft smile perfected her face with her brown eyes and full lips. Her light brown skin was radiant in the sun light. Her eyes appeared tired but happy nonetheless.

“I’m sorry,” I said. Clutching my chest, I ran into the field of children. I was engulfed by the sounds of laughter yet I did not laugh. Not yet.

I turned around for the last time. She was no longer there. A small tree had replaced her, surrounded by those just like it.

I smiled.

“Thank you, Mother.”

Thoughts on the Canadian Election

Staying up late for the Canadian elections is kind of like a family tradition from me. Despite being 13 and only “seeing” few federal elections in my life time, I found it very intriguing this year. I am a fan of both the NDP and Liberal parties and it’s interesting to see one of these parties finally prevail over Steven Harper and the Conservatives.

Just like all the previous elections, my family gathered around the T.V., at 7:00, waiting for the votes from Atlantic Canada. We shared a cheer as the Liberal party’s seats rised. We shared a remorseful sigh as the NDP remained 3rd. And we shared a laugh as the Conservatives remained second, barely reaching 100 seats.

It felt kind of odd this year though. I felt more mature than last time around but it didn’t feel like I was quite “there”. Maybe it’s the fact I can’t take part in the voting. And guess what? Next time, I’ll still be unable to vote.

At least I got school elections to look forward to, right?

(Too bad I lost in this year’s Student Council election. High school anyone?)