When Mama Told Me When I Was Young Novels & Stories

The only thing keeping them going was the need to clear my name. I was not a liar. I was a good kid. When the relatives saw them, they immediately crowded around. “How’s Anna? Where is she? Why didn’t she come back with you?” “It was just a fishbone, right? They took it out, right? There’s no reason for her to sulk any longer!” Mom dropped to her knees in front of everyone and told them I was dead. As she spoke, she slapped herself.

“Jonathan, I was wrong. I really know that now. Could you forgive me this time? “My mother’s old. She can’t handle any more stress. Besides, I already lost my job. If this keeps going, my family and I will be done for. “Could you speak up for me and my mother online? Jonathan, I’m begging you.” I was indifferent. “What does this have to do with me? You and your mother caused this trouble.” Amelia was upset with my indifferent treatment toward her. She stepped closer and anxiously said, “Jonathan, how could you say that? We’re supposed to spend our lives together.”

“I know it.” The admission hit me like a punch to the gut. I leaned forward, elbows on the desk, my pulse racing. “How?” Sable took a slow breath before she answered. Her fingers pressed into her thighs. “My mother told me once. I was young, maybe nine or ten. She pulled me aside after one of my father’s long meetings. She was careful, the way someone is when they’re planting information they hope a child will remember later if things go bad. She called him the man who keeps the old debts.”

I didn't expect this to happen in my life because Mama died just after I was born. Mama just smiled in front of me. I don't want to see that she will disappear right away. "It's me, Amire. Even though I'm not by your side, I'm just watching you from afar. You and your Papa look just like you..." Mama just exclaimed. I saw her face turn serious. I can't believe what Mama says that Papa went back in time to change what will happen in our time. "We are already there," Mama said. I remembered the image I saw before I passed out.

She should be terrified. I take a deep breath, closing my eyes for a moment, letting the memories flood back. “You see, when I was about six, my father told me my mother was leaving. He said she needed to go away for a while, to get some help. I didn’t understand it at the time, of course. I was too young. But I knew something was wrong. I could feel it.” Megra’s eyes are locked on mine, her fear mingling with confusion. She doesn’t know where this is going. She doesn’t see the connection yet. But she will.

Just present with it. "Tell me," I said. She looked at the boundary stones, the old grey shapes in the dark. "I stood at these stones when I was eight years old and my mother held my hand," she said. "She was already sick, though I did not know it then. She held my hand through the howling and then she picked me up and I remember the warmth of her, how warm she was, and looking back at the stones over her shoulder as she carried me home." She paused. "I have never told anyone that before."

“Mama told me.” That was true. That night, Mama told me a story instead of training. She sat on the edge of my bed, her voice soft, her hair loose around her shoulders. “Once there was a river,” she said. “It wanted to be everywhere at once, It pushed and broke its banks and flooded the land.” “What happened?” I asked. “The land didn’t fight it,” she said. “It shaped paths. Let the water move without destroying everything.” “So the river stopped?” I asked.

she asked, "No, my dear, you were three, nearly four, by the time the Fortress fell." I stared at both of them, wordless as I tried to piece together that with the flashes from my nightmares, and what Mama had told me before she died. "I.. but.. but Mama, she said.." I stammered, and Elyanna interrupted, her voice harsher for the first time, "I'm sure she said many things. I am not so sure she said much truth."

The orphanage where I'd grown up, lonely and forgotten. Further. A forest. Dark trees. A woman's voice singing. Hush now, little wolf, the moon is high... I knew that voice. I followed it. --- The memory took shape. I was young. Five years old, maybe six. Sitting on a woman's lap in front of a fire. Her face was blurred—I couldn't see her features—but her arms were warm. Safe. "Mama," I said. "Tell me about Papa." The woman's arms tightened.

Flashback: “Mama, I’m hungry” I said, looking at my mom with teary eyes. She cried and wrapped her arms around me, hugging me tightly as she kissed the crown of my head “alright, my little brave man, can you give me and auntie Gabby a bit longer? We just need to do something and then we’ll be able to get you food, okay?”