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MARIA

The whole world stopped.

"Mam...Mammina?" I slowly breathed out in a quiet voice, my heart pounding inside me. Then I turned, and suddenly, after being blind for so long, my wide eyes landed on the woman Luna was pointing out to me the whole time.

Mammina.

I must've been crazy. I had to have been crazy. There was just no way—there just couldn't be a possible way that she was standing there, right in front of us, alive. My eyes wandered down that vintage looking house, the sun rays beaming against the vines growing against the concrete, over the white door with a flower intertwined arch hanging over it, back down to the woman Luna was dumbstruck at the sight of.

That wasn't my mother.

She was too angelic to be her. Her unforgettable face hadn't changed at all; young and gentle looking, feminine and dainty, relaxed as she watered the mass colourful flowers in garden. They were covered that entire garden, pink, blue, yellow, white, all fresh and impressive, a light rainbow scattered across the land. She matched them in her long floral dress with puff sleeves, her whole being glowing under the bright sun. She looked beautiful, she looked like a stunning character straight out a book, smiling as she tended to her flowers,  the water droplets from her jug sprinkling across the leaves.

That wasn't her.

I watched from a distance. The way she walked was different. With one hand clutching onto a crutch and the other with the watering jug, she slowly pulled one foot in front of the other, limping slightly whilst she moved with caution, going over to another batch of flowers and carefully watering them, picking off a weed or two from the stem before moving onto the next. My eyebrows narrowed as I stared intently, that was not the woman I lived with. I had never seen her garden in my life.

That couldn't be her.

That sweet smile on her face as she turned her head a little to see the person eagerly calling, "mama!" She only had me and Luna. It couldn't be her. The young child came through the gate, wearing a denim dungaree, with her hair in space buns on the top of her head. She ran up to that woman and hugged her with such love and affection that the woman stumbled backwards a little from the force, throwing her head backwards and laughing such an infectious and beautiful sound.

They hugged, that woman's arms wrapped around that child and held her like she was her whole world, kissing her cheeks and laughing blissfully as if they were the only two people on the planet and when they pulled away, the happy gaze held between them was unbreakable. She gave that child a look that I would rarely receive from my own mother. She looked at her like she was her pride and joy, her baby, her reason for life. That child looked loved, she looked like she had the world's best parent stood right in front of her, giggling and talking words I couldn't hear in complete peace and glee.

She just wasn't my mother.

The mother I knew was sick. She was thin like a piece of paper, one to die for as a ballerina. Her eyes were always downcast and filled with emptiness, bones poking right out of her skin, her cheeks sucked out without a single piece of fat on her. That woman I knew walked freely with poise and confidence. Not a single smile would ever be found on her face, like she didn't know how to. A frown, a sharp look, a dark stare always covering her face. Laughing wasn't a part of her makeup, she would never laugh loud enough for other people to hear, she kept herself composed and quiet as she believed a woman should be.

She never did a single day's work. Gardening? There was always someone she could hire to complete whatever she wanted in her mind.

But she looked just like her.

She looked just like me. She grinned and laughed like a different person. She acted like someone I didn't recognise, brushing the fallen strands of hair away from that little's girls face gently, brushing down that girl's stained clothes delicately.

My mother was dead. I saw her die right in front of me. It was impossible that she could be alive—no, it was possible.

I never saw her body after I returned that night. I never saw what happened to her body. I never heard anything about it as soon as I came back. There was no funeral, there was no corpse to confirm. But I saw it, I saw her fall from that height before my own eyes.

So why was she there? In that garden?

Then I panicked.

It was all that I could see. I was standing there again in front that door in our old house, banging and banging against the wood. She was crying, her voice was so unbearably loud, begging for help.

I was terrified for once, hearing her screech on the other side of that wall. My whole body was trembling. Hot flushes were across me, I was spiralling out of control of myself. All I knew was that I needed her out, I needed her to stop yelling. The desperation grew and grew the longer it went on. My chest was searing with pain, it was all too congested, too hot, too claustrophobic in that hallway. My hands gripped onto that door handle as I pulled and pulled, twisted and yanked for it to realise its lock.

I was sweating, my hands sliding off the metal. That twisting pain inside my chest tightening, I was gasping for air, the hot tears streaming down my flushed cheeks. My throat was burning in pain, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't take in anything. I was heaving over and over but nothing was being circulated. Fighting and figuring for each breathe, gripping onto that handle, squeezing my eyes closed and battling to survive. It felt like death was there waiting for me, if I didn't calm the hell down, I wouldn't be able to open my eyes again.

My hand clutched onto my top, my breathing becoming erratic and uncontrollable, those heavy breaths draining me with each single one. I was leaning forwards and forwards, each shallow breath taking the energy out of me. I couldn't breathe—if I couldn't breathe, I couldn't live. It was getting worse, I was panicking, freaking out that I was about to die. Lightheaded, dizzy, overstimulated. It was all too much. I couldn't speak, I couldn't move and it was taking me too long to collect myself again.

"Ria! Ria, stop!" I could suddenly hear Luna's voice again. She was scared, she was worried, I could hear it in her earnest voice. But Luna wasn't there when she died. Luna was away—why could I hear Luna's voice?

"You're screaming! Can't you hear yourself screaming?" Luna desperately cried, shaking my shoulder in shock. I didn't understand. Why was Luna saying I was screaming? Why wasn't she seeing what I was seeing? How was Luna touching me if she wasn't there? I looked but I couldn't see her. Screaming?

I wasn't screaming. Mammina was screaming. She was still there, right in front of me, her bony back bent that balcony, those wide, terrified and bloodshot eyes piercingly staring into mine, a traumatising look of horror and intense fear taking over her pale face as she fell off that balcony, her shrilling scream of terror ripping through the silence of the dark night. My heart racing, my body weakening, my whole world shattering right before me. The overwhelming anguish hitting me, the shock of seeing a human fall at such a height.

I covered my eyes with both hands and screamed my heart out, unable to erase what had just happened before me. My hands were pressed against my wet face, steam building between my face and hands.

It was so hot, it was so unbearably hot. My clothes were sticking to me. It was boiling like that fire. Those burning flames—I could suddenly remember seeing them engulf the walls of the room, spreading across wood, the speckles going everywhere. The thick smoke polluting the enclosed room, burning down my throat, clouding my vision. Giovanni's body on top of mine, pinning me onto that floor, my hands and legs fighting for freedom. The fear coursing through me at my plight—it was either the flames or that man that was going to kill me. I couldn't breathe—I just couldn't breathe.

It was too much, it all got too confusing. Mammina, the fire, Giovanni.

Then I realised I had lost my damn mind.

I wasn't in the old house and neither was I in the fire.

I was stood there having a panic attack in front of Luna.

Luna forced my hands away from my face and I turned my head away from her, only to see, from afar, those storm filled, captivating eyes of hers locked with mine. They widened, they stared at me with such intensity and shock that I shivered. I felt them stare deep down into my soul.

Mammina.

That was all my body could take in that space of time. I remembered losing control of my own body, leaning backwards and the second I closed my eyes, I didn't open them again.

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~ Author's Note ~

Maria's mother? Alive? In front of her?

How do you think their interaction will go?

Will Maria be able to be released her anxiety from the past?

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Thanks for reading!

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