Home Alone

I blink the early light of the warm summer morning. I sit up looking around the room. It's quiet. Why is it quiet?

Mama?

I make a small noise, a reminder that I have awoken. Nothing. Minutes pass, but it feels like hours.

Mama, where are you?

Silence. I cry louder, clinging to the white bars that separate me from the rest of the world. Tears begin to well up in my eyes. I can't even hear the birds chirping outside.

I try to call to Papa now. He does not answer either. Where did they go?

The tears fall. My voice rises, a wail of panic echoing in the empty house.

I shake the bars again, fear beginning to take over. Am I alone? Did they abandon me? Through my sniffles and sobs, I can't see the world clearly anymore. Colors blur and the rooms begins to spin.

Planets whirl; wait, what happened to my circle of colors that hangs above me? What's going on? The floor is falling away. I scream, and somehow the bars break. I fall, and the tiles with me.

It is dark, empty. I can't see. I'm scared. Eventually, I feel a strange warmth surround me. It feels like home. But I wasn't home anymore.

I blink a few more times, fighting furiously with the dark. A sudden flash, and they open for real. I blink again, and I understand the warmth.

I snuggle into Mama's chest, hoping to forget the thoughts of my sleep. She coos quietly, stroking my hair. I realize I am safe now.

The empty world cannot get me here.