Page 124 of A Dead Man's B-Side
My mother stood under the threshold between our bathroom and our short hallway. Her white-blonde hair was shining under the grim lamp; I didn’t know how. She looked beautiful.
She was never like this in my memor–
Her eyes were glowing with life, vivid and present, and she looked filled out. Not as thin and sickly as in my m–
“Sasha. Come here.” I wanted to cry from her soft voice alone, but I couldn’t muster the tears. I couldn’t feel anything. I hadn’t even noticed I was standing until I made my way over to her. Strangely, I was taller than her, felt older.
Had I grown between then and now?
She smiled, pleased, and placed her hands up against my cheeks. “My sweet boy, how you’ve grown.”
Her English was broken, but I understood it all the same, a force of habit, one could say.
“Mom,” I said, the warmth of her hands seeping into me and rendering me motionless. “M-mom, wha–”
“You did so well, Sasha. I’m so proud of you.”
I blinked, then blinked again, swallowing to keep my throat from closing up. My lips parted. “What… do you mean?”
A thud down the hall caught both of our attention, as we tilted our heads towards it. “It’s okay. It’s just your papa.”
I looked back at her, and that smile remained painted across her lips.
“Mama, what’s going on?” Her face… She was so beautiful. She stood in a way that made everything lighter. Was she always like this?
She sighed, one hand dropping to her side and the other sliding down to rub my arm in a soothing motion. “You helped her, Sasha. I’m so proud of you.”
The light above us flickered. I blinked against the growing itch behind my eyes. “Mama.” It almost came out as a sob. “Helped who?”
An urge somewhere in a long-forgotten part of my soul wanted to surge forward and hug her. Except my vision was blurring, and maybe that was why my limbs weren’t complying.
“Paris.” Her voice was light, her tone, obvious.
A prickly feeling slid down my cheek, and when I lifted a hand to swipe it away, I found that I was crying.
She took both my hands in hers. They were soft, maternal. I didn’t know how else to explain it.
“I’m sorry, Sasha.” Her gaze turned sad, brows dipping together in remorse. “But… why couldn’t you help me?”
I shook my head softly, trying to understand her. “W–… what?”
The light above flickered once more. “You could have saved me.” Her words turned hard, her eyes, harder. “Why couldn’t you save me? Why didn’t you save me, Sasha!”
“M-mom…” I stuttered. Her hair shimmered for a moment, flickering under the light before dulling. Her eyes, once so full of life, dimmed, deep and sunken. I stumbled back at her spitting tone, a wave of shock pushing me away. Except, there was nowhere to move back against as my feet fell into the air, and the small room we were once standing in began tilting on its axis as I fell into a pitch-black abyss.
Mama followed me just to the edge, screaming, crying, so loud it was as if she was right by my ear. I was falling and falling andfalling, but all I could think about was how long I’d have to hold my hands against my ears before her voice subsided.
And somewhere distant, a softer voice echoed into the darkness.
Sasha.
Again, it called my name.
Shecalled my name.
It was the same voice as my mother’s before she turned… into–
“You took my son, Sasha.”
