WORD COUNT: 100 WORDS
A chill creeps up her spine. From somewhere, the sounds of crying touch her ears. Her brain wonders why and her heart wants to give solace.
But there is none to give as there is none for her.
She keeps her eyes tightly shut. Delusion’s embrace is easier to accept, to let the mind go—to let it wander to the days without labels and hatred. Or fear.
As she fades, her mind unlocks a memory of laugher and sunshine, of people embracing and dancing.
And of her son’s first and last sand castle.
“I’m coming, mon ange. Maman’s coming.”
A/N: Thank you for reading.