To Rest, or Not To Rest - Chapter 1

Before I knew it, the birds outside began to sing their songs as I lay in bed. My body had sunk into the bed’s uneven crevices as sweat had accumulated around me through the night. My head still felt the previous weight from before; I couldn’t even think to move my body. What was going on? Why’d it hurt to move? I slowly tried to open my eyes, feeling the light fill my sight. I tried to sit up, but that was to no avail. Where was everyone? Could somebody help me out? I tried to call out, but that didn’t work either; my throat had fallen sore throughout the night.

I breathed sporadically; they were long and rough. It’d become harder to breathe through the night. Was it because of that dream? The memory of the sight before, with the crab and figure that appeared in my mind once again. What did it mean? Why would such things show up to me, in a dream of all things? I couldn’t bear the headache that was tormenting me, trying to think of the details. It’d be better to try to rest, right?

Suddenly, the door swung open. The soft and warm aroma of broth entered the room. It was my mother. She looked as if she were wearing a different outfit from yesterday. My thoughts were hazy as she sat on the bed beside me, placing the bowl of broth on the small table next to the candle. Her eyes were soft, yet she wore the same cautious face as she did yesterday. “You wound up sick again, Chloe,” she said, letting out a soft sigh as she felt my head with her palm. Her hands were soft, feeling over my brow with a gentleness that was very much appreciated.

“Sorry, Mom.”

“I know you’re sorry, now stop talking. Your voice is hoarse enough already.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She was correct with that statement. It’d hurt to talk as my bones felt chills every few minutes. Mother would stir the bowl slowly, before taking the spoon from it and filling it with broth. She blew on the spoon a few times, wafting the smoke from the spoon to make sure it wasn’t too hot for me. She placed it in front of me, spoon-feeding it so that I wouldn’t have to move. “Eat up, you need nourishment and rest,” she said, continuing her process of feeding me. I took in the soft aroma of the broth with every taste, though my body had burned throughout the night and my head pounded more and more. This small alleviation was something that helped with the pain. She continued until we finished the bowl.

She placed it beside me once more before standing up and walking to the corner. The sound of water being rung from something hit my ears. It was revealed to be a warm towel she’d placed in a bowl of water. Before I could speak once more, she’d placed the folded towel onto my forehead. This wrung-out towel suddenly soothed my pounding head. Its warmth gave me some alleviation from the pounding headache that’d been terrorizing me since I awoke. Well, for what it's worth, Mother’s soft adjustments helped in the long run, as my small body couldn’t move a muscle. I can’t recall the last time I’d been cared for or to this degree, but it was nice. Mother stood up and looked at me closely. She seemed to be pondering something as she paced around the room. Her boots hit the floorboards with each step. I could do nothing but watch her, seeing her mutter to herself.

In my limited time with my mother, I’d picked up on her personality quite a lot. She was very straightforward, sharp as an arrow, and stern to no end. Yet the care she’d show everyone was one filled with overwhelming love. I wonder where she’d gotten those antics from, seeing as she didn’t feel like the most outgoing person. Father seemed to take that role rather than her. Though I didn’t know much else, I’d grown curious. Questions like ‘What did she do for a job?’ or ‘What were her favorite hobbies?’ came to mind. Though it would be awkward to try to ask these things, wouldn’t it be suspicious if your daughter didn’t know these things? Better to pick up on context clues!

My eyes were low, still hazy from the headache, but my focus stayed on her. She stopped pacing when she turned to me, noticing my stare. She seemed to realize that her pacing had caught my attention, so she quickly wiped at her long olive dress and sat beside me once more. “I’m sorry, Chloe,” she started, apology filled her face as she adjusted her scarf that held her hair in place. “I just can’t bear to see you sick so often. Especially when these things are avoidable…” she sighed. Placing her hand on my cheek and caressing it softly, her delicate touch was appreciated. “Why did you have to sneak out to the beach? I’m serious when I say you need to be careful about going out alone. I don’t want someone finding you passed out again.” Her words sat with me in the moment. Genuine worry filled each to the brim, causing me to be conscious about the actions that had happened that day.

It’d be better not to cause any more stress, as mother’s eyes looked tired. The bags under her eyes were easy to spot, sensing that she’d either stayed up all night trying to take care of me, or that she had cried before entering the room. These thoughts saddened me. Of course, a mother would worry for her daughter’s health. Especially if this was seemingly commonplace for her, I wonder why this body was so weak? When I first arrived, things felt normal. This body was fit as a fiddle. Why did the sudden change come about? And when would it end? I could do nothing but ponder as my mother continued.