Unreality

1. The Darkest Hour

               For the first time in weeks, Ariadne was having dinner with her family, which is to say with her mother, as her father was absent — as usual. The reason for such a hiatus was, of course, the loss of her brother, which had taken place just last month.

Having spent nearly every waking moment since the funeral locked up in her room, Ariadne was now becoming aware of the changes that had been taking place around the house, courtesy of her mother no doubt — all the pictures of her brother were gone. And not just those, his belongings too were nowhere in sight, not even a painting he had once worked on, which had been hung on the wall of the living room.

All traces of him — gone. It was as if he had never existed in the first place.

Although Ariadne was quick to reach an explanation for this change, she opted not to comment on it. It just wasn't worth it. In fact, nothing felt worth it anymore inside that house, and the only reason she was even eating alongside her mother for the first time in so long was because she had whimsically decided not to eat in her room for once, and her mother proved to be tactless enough to join her at the dinner table.

At least she seems to have enough sense not to try and start some forced conversation.

But it seemed Ariadne might have spoken — or thought — too soon, for her mother broke the silence soon after.

'Can you pass me the water, dear?'

Slightly startled by the sudden, unexpected request, the daughter glanced at the mother without moving her head. The latter, however, was not looking back, and kept eating her meal as she waited for her request to be fulfilled.

Without a word in return, Ariadne placed the glass pitcher close enough to her mother so that she might reach it.

The middle aged woman filled her glass and took a small sip. As she did, Ariadne glanced at the pills beside her plate, wondering for no particular reason if she was going to take them then. She did not, but their mere presence appeared nonetheless contemptible to her daughter.

'So...' started the mother, finally looking directly at her daughter, while putting away the cutlery in order to clasp her hands together, 'when are you thinking of going back to college?'

Ariadne sighed internally.

Noticing her daughter's unwillingness to respond, the mother proceeded, 'You can't keep missing classes forever, you know.'

'What do you care?'

This sudden interjection caught her mother by surprise, so intent she seemed on maintaining what was in Ariadne's eyes but a mere facade of concern.

'...What are you talking about, Ariadne?' said the middle aged woman, visibly straining to remain composed, 'You're my daughter. Of course I worry about you.'

Prompted by such a response, Ariadne too ceased to eat and faced her mother directly.

'Since when?' she asked, 'When's the last time you asked me anything about my education?'

Despite being obviously uncomfortable with her daughter's tone, the middle aged woman managed to answer, 'Well that's because you'd never given me a reason to, dear. But now it's different — you can't miss out on weeks of classes and expect to—'

'Because I have no reason to miss them, right?' interjected Ariadne, in a slightly wounded voice.

With that, the elephant in the room was finally out in the open, something which her mother seemed none too happy about, as demonstrated by her hesitance to say anything in return.