Dare to Imagine

in #hive-1707982 years ago

Dare to Imagine

Sara Bright is so real, her presence is everywhere. My son’s iPad is stacked with drawings of her. He’s written her name, intertwined in heart shapes in hundreds of drawings. He’s such a sensitive creature, a talented artist and he writes fabulous poetry and lyrical stories. Of course all the poems and stories are about Sara.

Yes, I’m sitting at my shabby chic whitewashed table, untouched cup of coffee growing tepid, while I rile through my son’s privacy.

‘Are thirteen-year-olds entitled to privacy?’ I ask the wilted flower next to my coffee cup, thank goodness it doesn’t answer me, but the question is rhetorical anyway.

Stevie is in the hospital again, and I have to go visit him. I shudder at the thought of how the pipes that poke in and out of his tender body affect me. I’m not the one they’re probing, but I might as well be.

“Steve, Steven…Stevie, what am I to do? How are we going to get past this rift that threatens to be the precipice of your life. I don’t want you to fall off the cliff, Steve. I want you to get well.” No tears flow, I’m all cried out.

The gray day reflects weak sunlight from the window pane, blinding my view of the iPad, so I move out of its glare, leaving my coffee, cold.

I settle into my worn couch to read my son’s words, to get a grip.


I was standing on the rock, the breeze playing with my hair. Looking at her, a halo of golden light, edged with emerald. Brilliant, iridescent green eyes. She looked exquisite.

“Jump, Stevie, jump!” And I did, into the abyss, from the rocks into the pool. My lights went out in a flash of blinding light.

Black matter with white pupils scratching my existence. Then, my mother’s face, hovering like a huge orb above my eyes.

“What were you thinking, Steve? What?” Pale-faced, swollen eyes stared back at me. My mother looked like a ghost.

But, I was stinking. Drowning. My fingers were numb.

“Steve! Good Lord, you’re awake.” And I was. I surfaced like a gaping fish, gills quivering, body trembling.

“What?” I offered, falling back on the white linen my mother preferred.

Claws snatched me up and it was days before I could breathe again.


I remembered the episode.

Jeez, it wasn’t an episode, it was a calamity. He was in hospital for a week before I could, safely, bring him home. I flick through all of the “calamities”, I read on.


There she was, smirk puckering ice-pink lips

The board skating rink was a glitter of silver concrete. It was hard.

. “Do the figure of eight, Steve. Do it.” I felt my cheeks flush and my heart contract. She was looking at me, at me…

Sara Bright. Jeez, what a name, but it suited her, she glowed.

Next thing I was spinning, up, up, up…

A perfect landing, my adrenaline spiked. One foot on the board, the other churning the concrete to sparks. I was flying…flying.

There was a crowd, but I only heard her voice, crystal tones, gorgeous!

It was the stone on my path that did it.

The concrete came to greet me, like an old enemy, and my lights dimmed.


Finally, I feel a tear squeeze. I have to get up, put on my jacket, I have to put on my jacket…it’s cold outside. It’s weird how the mundane things have to be done, even in times of crisis. I laugh, I can hear myself laugh.

“Jeez, there must be something wrong with me, how can I laugh at a time like this?”

I gather myself up and face the door, the door that leads to the hospital, the roomful of blinking monitors, the doctors shaking their heads over the bed where my son lies, the kind nurses with their sorrowful eyes.

I don’t know what I’m going to do, I really don’t. Even the doctors aren’t sure.

“What can be done to fix a delusional brain? What must I do to explain to my son that there’s no such person as Sara Bright? She’s a figment of his mind, and his mind is killing him.”

I’m so afraid…

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This story is in response to The Ink Well’s prompt for the month : - dare

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I had to sit a moment and just think over the depth of this piece... A mother who dares to believe she can study her son, somehow figure out the answer to his illness. She bravely explores a side of him, that I can only imagine must bring her great pain. The universal cup of cold coffee that most mothers have sitting somewhere each day, reminds me of our connection as women. The struggle of how to guide our children.

As she hopes to tear this delusion from her son, he finds his happiness in it. He too dares, to do whatever he can to bridge the gap between he and Sara, who calls to him under "a halo of golden light, edged with emerald." He flies away, unaware of how he is hurting his body. Just... wow. this is powerful!

To say I was relieved it is a story is a massive understatement! You sure had me going 😱😁❤️ Thank you for sharing this thought-provoking tale!

🥰🤗💕❤️

Lovely prose with vivid words painting images of scenes in my head.

Thank you 🤗💕

The pleasure's mine. :)

Oh my! So the narrator's son believes Sara Bright is convincing him to do risky, dare-devil acts? She must be a tormented wreck! No mother should ever have to contend with the trauma of a child experiencing trauma. If only we could put it in the by-laws of the parenting manual.

Beautiful, poignant story, @itsostylish.

This is a great concept and could be expanded into a book!

It'd be really interesting.

Typo on last line - should be "his" and not "he's" - worth changing because this is good work!

Haha, that’s one of my favourite errors. Thanks 🤗

Oh I have some recurring ones as well :)

We should make a list!

You're welcome, beautiful ❤️

Tremendous story with a powerful undertone. I was entertained reading the mother's anguish over her son's runaway imagination. And the final prayer has power.

How are you, friend?

Your writing is always good and interesting. I just started writing this story again.

Brilliant and beautifully written. But what if Sara Bright was real? It would be a mystery that Stevie's mother must solve ...at least so the dares could stop! 😄
!LUV

That would be interesting, will have to save he idea for another story. Hehe 😉

Your story speaks of the love of a mother as she is helpless against her son's ailment.
Her son is dying and there's nothing she can do.
I really enjoyed your story.

🥰❤️🤗