Chapter Fifty-Seven: Fantasies you Craft

Alba C

I can smell the ocean from...here, but I cannot tell where ‘here’ is.

I stand in an open-spaced living room made of brightly polished wood that reminds me of those commonly around the homes crafted on tropical islands.

The humidity is a little annoying, but my body, as if accustomed to the home’s layout, reaches for the thermostat.

"Mama!"

A small yet loud voice calls from far away, melting my chest to a gooey degree; who knew there was such a title that could hold such power over me?

"Yes, honey?"

My response is again as automatic as my body knowing where the thermostat controller is.

When no response follows, I move deeper into the house, past what looks like a kitchen to a little door that requires my bending for passage; there, the vast sea greets me with its strong breeze and scent of salt. The regret I feel is instant as I might miss the ‘mama’ call due to the loudness of the ocean.

The sand burns as I walk barefoot through it, searching for any sign of life, when