Claire was my loving mother. Dark haired with chocolate brown eyes. She smiled at everything, and was kind to everyone. A scientist in the making. She worked at the local “science lab”, as my father called it, working twenty four hours. At night, my mother would come home with surprises and stories about her workday. One time, she came home with a frog. Mutated and alive. It would sit in my room, staring at me. At that time, I thought it was creepy. Four legs and eyes.
Now, from the sad point of view, I see it as an invention.
I miss it so much.
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“I’m afraid he’s gone, madam.” Those words echoed in her mind. Sketched with knives. Panicked, she gripped the counter and cried. The surrounding people stood there, rubbing their hands together and staring at a blinking screen. Small, grey wires were hanging from the ceiling, fizzing and snapping. Bright electric sparks faded. Glass was on the floor from the window. Sweat dripped down their faces.
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“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” My mother asked from the kitchen, packing lunch. I was in the living room, staring at the dark screen of the TV. The air was stale and unwelcoming. It mingled with the lingering scent of aftershave and sweat. A pink morning sky was outside as the yellow sun was shining through the window. It is going to be a normal day, I kept telling myself. I’m not going to die. My mother walked into the living room, carrying a plate of tiny sandwiches and set them on the table in front of me. She looked frazzled, putting her hands on her hips and smiled.
“Whatcha thinking about?”
“I’m scared, ma.” I whispered, trying not to break down. She chuckled, sitting in the spot next to me. Warm honey and apples. She hugged me, her thin arms wrapping around my neck and pulling me into her chest. I stiffened in her hug, continuously staring at the TV.
“Don’t be scared, son. Whatever you think will happen, I’m sure it won’t.” Those weren’t comforting words. My mother wasn’t one to lie, but I knew she was trying to stay strong. Like she knew what was going to happen. I wish we could’ve stayed like that.
I wish I wasn’t picked.
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“I want my son back!” Claire sobbed, punching at the ground. Everyone was in shock, gripping onto nothing. The hope was to send somebody successfully to the past and come back within a matter of seconds. The scientist credited with this idea was being productive downstairs in his lab, unaware of the events that happened.
“Like I said, miss, I’m afraid he won’t be coming back.” A man wearing a black suit said in a deep tone. "We're sorry." Claire sniffled, shaking. "I want my son back. Please."
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“Are you sure this is safe?” Claire had asked, poking around her grandfather’s failed experiments.
“Why, of course, dear.” He would say, often trying to create something new or out of this world. Claire would come to his house after school, driving there in the “faster than time” automobile, when in actuality it was a normal SUV with a ratty bumper sticker. She would be teased about the car and her family. All she wanted was to fit in.
“It doesn’t exactly look safe,” she said, picking up a helmet with a red button on the forehead. “What does this one do?” Her grandpa would often show her the different things he made, starting with a long lecture about the different uses before going off into a long tangent about how it’ll help many lives.
“That’s a failure. My first project,” he said, walking towards Claire. He took the helmet and moved it around in his hands. “It was supposed to do wonders on the human brain. Control. Support. Even after death, this could still keep the brain intact and working. Their whole body would shut down, but their brain was still alive and working.”
“It looks like you just put grandma’s pasta sorter and a free button from a nearby retail store.”
Her grandpa grumbled, throwing the invention into the pile. “Junk. That’s what you would call it.” Claire frowned, shifting her feet as she walked behind her grandpa.
“I hadn’t meant it like that.”
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“What did you do? Why didn’t it work?” Claire angrily asked, standing in the open door of her grandpa’s room. It was the same old room she was in time after time. The same smell of mildew welcomed her with open arms. Her grandpa stopped working.
“You promised me years ago he would be fine. That my first born would be safe, and will return.”
“Claire.”
Anger was bubbling in her stomach, rising like lava. “I trusted you. Naive and-and completely stupid for trusting you! My son is now gone thanks to you!” She advanced slowly, beady eyed.
“Claire.”
“My only son. My only child is gone.”
“Claire, liste-”
“No! I am not going to listen to your feeble lies! All I wanted was to have a happy life. I told him he would be safe, to not be scared. Do you know what I’m feeling?”
Her grandpa sighed deeply, turning to face her.
“No, but I do know what regret feels like. You know I’m old. In my lifetime, I’ve seen and done things. Some of those things I wish to forgot, go back and redo them over. The inventions. My wife told me ‘Arthur, you are getting yourself too deep in this.’ I was stubborn, but you have to understand. I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry isn’t going to cut it!” Claire shirked, grabbing the old man by the collar. “I want my baby boy back! I want him right now!” She broke down crying, clinging rather than grabbing. “Please.”
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There was a sound. A scratching sound. It was echoing around my bed like nails on a chalkboard. It faded to white noise. Laughter. Wake up, Alex. Sweat. Tossing and turning. Bright lights. My mother crying.
What is happening?
Silence.
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