Summary: I knew that humans are delicate glass figurines. So, I thought that if I fell from somewhere as high as the heavens, everything would be over because I'd break into a million of pieces. Then, I found out that you never really stop falling and you will continue to fall, until you forget why you fell in the first place.

Tag(s): OC, character has no prior knowledge of TG.


2. A Mother's Love


When times were peaceful and the woman I came to fear in the future was still my beloved mother, there was one thing she kept from me.

She didn't purposely lie or create a story for me to distract me either. All she did, when I asked her about it, was brushing me off and acted as if I never asked in the first place. She pretended, just like those tiny people in the tiny metal box who played their roles. She was like the sock puppet who didn't know what to do without the hand that guided them.

In other words, she played the silly fool and I, the demanding king.

I persisted and continuously asked her, like the young, naive, insensitive little girl I was. I didn't understand, so I had to ask until I got my answer. After all, she was the one who taught me that if I didn't know something at school, I should ask the teacher. This meant that if I didn't know something at home, I would ask my mother, who was the oldest, as well as the only person in the house other than me and the dead guppy I buried in the backyard.

It's not like I could ask the dead cat in the black bin either, you know.

"Mummy, mummy, what is dying?" I asked her and I stared in fascination as she flinched once again. She always looked like a scared animal whenever I tried to talk about this topic. "Mummy, please tell me. I want to know." I tugged her blue dress, uncaring of the wrinkles and creases I made on it.

My mother didn't need a dress to be pretty like the other ladies I see in the neighborhood. Mother was already pretty without the dress and without putting crayons on her face. She had the most beautiful smile in the world, the bluest eyes and the brightest yellow shade for hair. The itty bitty spots that dotted her face stood out like white against black, but it didn't make her more hideous, but much more prettier. It made her stand out, it made her special. My mother was beautiful and special, unlike the other women who were boring and similar.

It was one of the things I didn't understand as well, but I never asked after that one time I hid her boxes of colors and crayons when she refused to answer me. She cried and cried and her face became very red and splotchy. When she cried, she broke more things too.

"Mummy, why won't you tell me?" I tugged her dress harder this time, not noticing the way my mother's eyes narrowed and her lips set in a thin line. "Mummy, please-"

Then, my mother grabbed my arm in a way that hurt really badly.

Her fingers were not the ones that helped me brush my hair whenever I lost the comb or the one that comforted me when there was thunder. They were the fingers that did not belong to mother, but a monster. Mother's fingernails, the ones I remarked as simple and neat, suddenly became demonic and frightening, as they dug into my skin. Digging and sinking, deeper and deeper. It made my skin itch and hurt, as well as causing it to become pink until the red came out.

"You know mummy doesn't like to talk about this." she smiled and I could tell, that the smile looked like it was made from dirt with clumsy hands. When my mother smiled, the whole room lit up and the sun rose. This smile could scare the moon and bring the ghosts from beneath. Her hand clenched tighter around my stick thin arm and I bit my lip to stop myself from crying.

"You know how mummy feels about this, don't you, sweetie?"

One of her sharp, monstrous nails scratched against my skin until the red dyed her nail, as if it were nail polish. My eyes widened from the pain, but my mouth was as tight as a closed zip.

"So, mummy doesn't want you to talk about this anymore." she said, almost in a whisper and I nodded slowly, fearfully. Her voice was almost sweet like dripping honey, but I knew that it was poisoned. Dirty and dark like the poison my mother used to kill the icky rats. "Do you understand?"

I nodded, like the obedient little girl I was supposed to be.

"Do you love mummy?"

I nodded, just the way she wanted me to.

"Then don't ask again, okay?"

I nodded, because this time, I understood true fear.

I never did ask anything else after that.

. . .

One day, I realized, that there wasn't two, but three things she never did tell me about.

She didn't tell me that she loved me, up until the day she stopped; the day she "died".

. . .

My new "mother", not-mother, was very strange.

This woman had long, smooth black hair tied up into a side braid and dark brown eyes just like the chocolate I always liked to have for a snack at midnight. She didn't like wearing long dresses like how my mother was so fond of, but wore things that were more practical and formal, like a button up and pants. She didn't stay at home for the rest of the day and was off to work until the evening, when she came and picked me up from school. It was nice, but it was a foreign experience for me.

If I had to compare the both of them, this woman was like the sea and my mother was the sky.

Not-mother had a more serene nature and the sound of her voice always made me fall asleep, just like the ocean waves and the seashells from the beach. She listened to whatever I had to ask and always answered no matter how ridiculous the questions were. Just like how water could not hold a shape, she never held me in a tight grip. Instead, like how water surrounds a person, she surrounds me, by embracing me lovingly.

My mother was the sky, because her temperaments were like the weather. If the sky was happy, the sun would be shining and the world would be bright. If the sky was sad, the sky would rain. If the sky was angry, there would be thunderstorms and lightning. Just like the weather, she could never control her moods and I couldn't tell when there would be sunshine, rain or thunder. They were erratic and scary and sometimes, they hurt me.

Not-mother, however, would smile at me without reason and would never command me to take her things for her.

She would give me whatever I wanted and cooked whatever I wished to eat.

She would tie my hair, the bright yellow now an inky black, using different hairstyles every day and would hold my hand when we crossed the roads.

She took me wherever I wanted and taught me whatever I was curious about.

She stayed up with me on Fridays to watch late night cartoons and always prepared caramel popcorn.

She never broke things when she got angry.

Not-mother was different. Nicer, smarter, calmer and happier than my mother. She was the perfect mother that I remember children liked to dream about, back when I was still part of the system and stuck in a cold place many forced me to call "home".

But in the end, she was still not my mother, like my mother.

I remember the man who told me to lie on the sofa and to talk about my feelings, telling me that I gained a condition called "apathy". He said that I could not feel like normal people and I could not experience emotions like concern, excitement, motivation or passion. The man said that I most likely have suppressed the emotions "concern", because I could not express any worry when someone injures themselves or when someone is missing from my life. I was skeptical at first, because I thought the one who was insane was the doctor.

There was one thing, though, that I would never be able to suppress in my entire life, because it was a basic human emotion and a basic instinct instilled since a being's coming into a world. Even animals had it and no one taught them that.

Fear, for I did not know what was love.

Not-mother always tells me that she loves me, because I am her daughter, her precious baby girl, her little darling. She tells me how much she loves me, she tells me how her love for me is measured and tells me that she loves me unconditionally. No matter what wrong I do or I refuse her, she says that she will love me and love me and love me and love me.

What is a mother's love?

I don't understand and when I ask her, I still get the same answer, so I never ask again, even though I cannot wrap my head around this idea. This concept is strange, as strange as not-mother and thus, this is why I may never understand what she means, when she says, "I love you".

Out of the blue, I say out loud as she prepares dinner, bustling about in the clean kitchen that I never had to clean ever again. Like washing the plates, getting rid of the soap from the sink or pick up the broken pieces of various broken things from the floor with my bare hands.

"I don't think I can ever love you."

I stare at her, with a face as empty as a blank canvas waiting for an artist to use it. My face held no emotion and it was as if I was a stone sculpture, stuck with a lifeless look forever until time took me way to beyond life.

She doesn't look shocked, doesn't flinch or even mildly frightened.

Instead, she gives me a weird smile and I can't help but note that my stomach feels very empty and cold, but not from being hungry.

"I know, but I still love you."


A/N: Thoughts/feedback/constructive criticism is welcomed and appreciated. ^^ Please leave a review, it would make me very happy.

Thanks to inari (guest) for reviewing the previous chapter!