Her cape bore a color of washed out yellow, though old and slightly tattered, it gave the feeling of the warm summer sun dancing along her back. The smile on her face was one of pure joy, a feeling she’d missed throughout the years. Her arms were raised in a powerful stance, she sped toward a giggling little villain, enveloping the creature in her arms. That hero was a mother. She had a worn-out blanket tied around her neck, flapping behind her as she chased her little girl through the halls. Her sweet little girl – the one constant in her life. The person who’s love remained pristine, as if time was extraneous compared to the blood that ran through her daughter’s veins; the same blood that flowed through her, and the generations of heroes before. She wanted nothing more than to hold her daughter forever, protecting her from the torment and horror belonging to the world outside of their safe, suburban home. But everyone grows up, and no one can be secluded from the pains of society forever.
The same little girl had grown up in a troublesome environment. It wasn’t as if she’d had a completely wrecked childhood, but even in the best lives, there were always bad moments. She could recall the names and faces of those who had negatively impacted her life, though it was out of her control. Faces that she had trusted- faces that she was supposed to love, had only resonated with emotions of hate and fear. But isn't that the life of a young child? She was only a little girl, with no power or choice, living with monsters under her bed.
And so, that little girl became an adolescent, facing exactly what her mother feared. She’d always loved the way the birds chirped by her window, or the breeze felt against her skin. She used to lay in the front yard soaking in the sunlight and blissfully staring at the clouds above. But now, there was nothing more than a mere veil covering her body, grey and dampened with fatigue, caused by the dark rifts that had formed in her life. As she now listens to the birds still chirping outside her window, there is only a lingering heartache where there should be joy. It started small, as a sprinkle of rain against her skin, but now it drowns her, like an ocean falling upon her body, controlling every move she makes. It’s as if the stress and anxiety of the world condensed into a cloud large enough to block the sun. She now stands in the mirror every morning judging her insecurities, wishing she were someone different. She wanted her mother’s eyes- the color of honey dripping from the evergreen trees that scattered the neighborhood. She wanted a better smile; a real smile. She tried it again, smiling, but the corners of her lips fought to fall back down, and her eyes refused to light up.
Every story has a hero. She didn't have super strength, or the ability to read minds. She couldn’t fly, and for sure couldn’t hold her breath underwater; she hated getting her hair wet. But she was a mother, and she saved her little girl from that darkness. She blew away the cloud over her head, and she did it effortlessly. She became a hero. She became a new light and guided her daughter through the story of what became their lives. It was messy and painful, but with every bad moment came a new one filled with joy and laughter.
Along with a hero, every story has some hint of truth, including this one. I am that little girl and my mother is the hero I see, with a smile brighter than the stars.
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