𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐄𝐀𝐓 𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐄. 𝔭𝔬𝔯𝔠𝔬 𝔤𝔞𝔩𝔩𝔦𝔞𝔯𝔡

₀₀ × ℒ𝐴𝑆𝑇 𝑀𝐸𝐴𝐿

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ꉂ ▬ 𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐍𝐄 ; 𝔭𝔯𝔬𝔩𝔬𝔤𝔲𝔢 ▬ ｷ

❛ 𝐸𝑌𝐸𝐵𝐴𝐿𝐿 ❜

My mother's eyes were the loveliest in all of Liberio— and that's an irrefutable fact.

I still remember the way they would follow my every movement, the hue of her irises shining bright, rivaling the moon's glow in their wake.

And just as the moon comes and goes, they did the same.

The first time I arrived home and wasn't greeted by her chime, I didn't worry.

I got used to it. The silent home, my footsteps resounding with the creaking of the floorboards, the blurred silhouette of my mother walking next to me— it all became my narrative; my fiction.

I could still smell the faint scent of her perfume, the soft notes of lavender and citrus floating in the air from the time she spent in her garden. Her flowers now are wilting as I stand overlooking them, the petals shifting brown and the leaves crunchy.

I don't worry about it.

The remains of her smile would still creep on my thoughts, as I watch her from the kitchen humming an out-of-tune chorus— the same repetitious four beats as she baked her favorite fruit pie. I didn't really favor the random assortment of fruits she would use, but the lie was worth it as long as I saw the tug of her mouth and the gentle gaze of her eyes.

Even if I were to never taste that fruit tart again, I don't worry.

It wasn't until I stopped in the empty living room that her ghost settled beside me once more. She didn't smell of anything, nor did she ring my name like she used to.

I didn't worry because I knew it would end like this.

I turned to face her shadow but took my time lifting my chin. What if she wasn't as I memorized? What if her spirit was only a speck of dust, a figment of my deepest aches, everything my heart pained for but didn't know how to reify?

What if she had become a monster?

My eyes couldn't suppress their itching curiosity, as they darted up to see her. A breath of fear is all I allowed myself.

"Mom..."

She stood as I last remembered her, her sullen eyes and deep eyebags being the most prominent features on her gray face. Veins and wrinkles erected from her skin like ivy, twisting and lacing all around her until disappearing into the roots of her hair where they fed.

Her pointer finger raised at the sound of my voice, as she softly brought it over her perished heartbeat. She smiled.

Her mouth opened to speak, but no words came out. She continued by herself, her eyes far off into the distance and her mouth dancing to a silent melody. She became invested in her own world, her expression too far away from here for me to piece together.

My hand drifted up to her face with a will of its own— two fingers and a thumb bending and stretching. They snaked to her right eye socket, scooping out the pretty organ with a squelching pop.

"Mommy."

My lips parted, my tummy rumbling at the sight of the blood and mucus the little sphere had summoned forth.

It gazed at me and I reciprocated, the two of us staring at each other in silence.

I'll become one with it, my tongue twisted the chant to life.

I brought the plump thing to my mouth, my teeth embracing it with a soft nibble— an introduction of a kiss. The eye didn't falter, remaining firm under its greeting. So as a courtesy, my teeth pressed against the firmness of it until it popped open like a treasure chest, unveiling its secrets to me.

I chewed my last meal, feeling the oozes of its muck drip down my chin. My stomach settled, no longer snarling with hunger.

I removed my hand away from my mouth, ignoring the burning feel of my fingers as I walked through the still residence to my room.

Ever since then, grapes have never tasted the same.

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