She reached out for him from the murky depths of vastness - her hand outstretched above, her eyes almost popping out in fear. She was trying to shout something at him but not much sound makes sense to you when you're faced with death swallowing your beloved. She wallowed in vain, knowing full well she had no chance against the pull of the wet earth beneath. Mark kneeled over the precipice, tears blurring his vision. Hot tears, much different from the icy cold lake water below that had already consumed his father and was now in the midst of taking away the one who birthed him, gave him life. In an instant she was gone - he couldn't hear the desperate splashing of her limbs, couldn't see the bubbles escaping her mouth as she tried to say for one last time 'I love you, son.'
'Mother!' he yelled, loud enough to awaken his wife and children, if he had either. Not that dream again. The visions had haunted him ever since the thing happened, 42 years ago, when he was a mere 4. Every night of every day from then on had been spent cursing his fate, fate had conspired to spare him, instead snatching away those who mattered. He didn't want to live. But he had to, for those who couldn't.
They see me, they watch me. They know me, they love me. I can't watch them, can't see them. Don't remember them, but I sure as hell love them. I want them, but I know they don't want me with them. Not yet.
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