Title: Shaking the Snow Globe

Summary: Stories fabricated another reality for me. Whenever I drifted off to sleep, my mother would whisper visions of a completely different world away from the poverty and destitution that we lived in. By giving me something to cling onto, she kept me sane. But then one day the dreams turned out not to be quite dreams, and now I am forced to choose between what is real... and what is real in my heart.

Confused? Don't worry, all will be revealed soon.

Enjoy!

He was young. She was young.

End of story.

She laughed, looking at the paper in his hands. ‘What a lousy way to begin writing a novel.’

...

‘I love you, you know that dear.’

He ruffled her hair affectionately. ‘But I’m in love with you.’

...

It was sunny, but not bright. Just a warmth, a nice dull glow on the grass and trees outside. The sun was sinking closer and closer to where the man stood, the darkness of the night pushing the light away. The blacksmith watched the colors leave.

Tomorrow I'll face the king, he thought.

Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be the audience that he‘d wanted. In his dreams, his robes would be radiating in splendor, and the king would award him for some great deed. But though this was most definitely a ceremony he was no hero.

Tomorrow he’d be attending his wife’s wedding.

...

The most magical time of the day is dusk, I believe. The split second where the last remnants of sunlight disappears and all is dark. It’s a bit eerie, but pleasantly so. I never feel any loss when I watch it, just a sort of peace.

Watching it alone is the best. Not that I’ve ever tried it the other way, like in movies and television sitcoms and even in those romance novels that make you feel all gooey after you put them down. But it’s very enjoyable to be alone occasionally, to breathe in the cold air and just stare at the darkness above. Like a black hole, it seems to suck you in.

Because you can stare and stare, but you’ll never be able to penetrate it. The clouds are invincible and you are only human.

There are many of you in this world, and so many more to come, but the sky?

All the six billion people on the entire planet and possibly in the universe eat, live, and breathe under the same stars.

...

My mother would spin these tales to me in the evening while the snow globe played in the background, lulling me to sleep with her soothing words. The old rocking chair would creak forward and then tilt back slowly, repeating the process until my eyes closed shut. Then followed a gentle kiss on the forehead and transferring me from her lap to my bed where she would pat the blankets firmly around me.

No matter where my father went to get food for our survival, or when my brother came home from his three part-time jobs, she would always go through our nightly ritual.

She was the one who taught me what love is, I think.

The breathy wind of her sigh, the gentle murmur of her voice… the nostalgia doesn‘t hurt me though. Conversely it gives me something to live for, and with it I can see further into the distance. She is my motivation, my support, my world.

And maybe, just maybe, if I shake her enough she’ll wake up to hear these words herself.

Author's Note:

Just a 500-word drabble to start off the story. The words in italics are the stories, anything that is bolded is written, and normal is what's happening in the present. This idea just struck me today and, in a moment of insanity, I typed it out. Nothing probably makes sense at the moment but remember! Patience is the key to all things in life. That and reviews of course. So drop a comment!

Approbation is appreciated, flames are forgiven, constructive criticism is coveted, and reviewers are revered.