Rae-Gene Holmes
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Stories (1/0)
Valley of Dreams, Delusions Death
There weren’t always dragons in the Valley. It was once filled with childhood trysts and the surrealism of spring. Feelings of immortality that ran true and in abundance. Adolescence. And I would look to my mother, her chestnut curls, warm hands and a smile that beckoned for her boy. And I would go, towards that smile, as a loving child would. As a moth would a flame, as a beggar to water. But then I’d stop and watch as that sweet face would contort with pain, as the ache forced her to double over and stain her white dress in the soil. And I’d reach for her, drawn to the honey in her eyes as they oozed forth into the Valley. Desperate to ease whatever plagued her. But she never gave her hand to me, she kept them white-knuckled, tearing across that white dress, seared with agony. And my fingers left bristling, unrequited in the wind.
By Rae-Gene Holmes2 years ago in Fiction