Since Pr. Ellison said we could use old stuff... This is a blurb from a short story I wrote awhile ago. I know the tenses are all funky, I'm sorry!
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But Aurora did not wake up to her mother this morning; it wasn’t her mother’s voice she heard, it wasn’t her mother’s soft finger tips she felt. It was only a dream. Memories from the past, lingering, still causing old wounds to once again fester. Aurora’s mother had died a year earlier.
When Aurora opened her eyes she knew her beloved mother wasn’t going to be lying next to her, radiantly smiling down at her. But the dream had been so real, like all the ones before it. The tears threatened to stream down her cheeks, but she held them at bay, promising herself never to shed another tear. She missed her mother and would give anything to see that smile, to hear her voice just once more.
But those were childish dreams. Her mother had taken her own life. Cynthia Vaughn refused to deal with reality, refused to fight the world so she could be there when her daughter opened her eyes in the morning. The bitterness Aurora felt left a foreign taste on her tongue; however, it still didn’t keep Aurora from missing her. Cynthia Vaughn was buried under six feet of frozen earth, resting in peace for the first time in her life. She couldn’t hate her for that.
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