The class was a noisy, busy, chaotic mess. But I loved it. My grade 2 class loves craft.

“Miss Higgles look what I made my mum!” Said one curly haired student. It was a sparkly Mother’s Day card with a big Scribbly flower.

I give her some affirmation, but my eyes glance to a dark corner of the room. There sitting quietly and alone was Reilly Kelly, his head was on his desk.

I slowly approach the child, “are you alright?”

“I haven’t seen my mother in ten years,” he said into the desk.

Ten years? The kid is barely 8!

My mother disappeared 10 years ago. It was unexpected and unexplainable; shockingly there were hundreds of leads but every single one lead to absolutely nothing. A cold trail. A wild goose chase.

Of course she was missed and a funeral was held and her life was commemorated. She was assumed dead after every lead dried up like the Sahara Desert.

Soon people began to forget. Of course this happens I assumed, but when I asked my aunt to help me pick some flowers for her sisters grave, she gave me a blank look. She had no clue who Emma Shearing was, her younger sister. It was as if she had never existed. I visited her grave alone again...

Her headstone was in the exact some location. The headstone was white marble polished to perfection, just as I had picked 10 years prior. I go to read the heartfelt me and my aunts came up with over much debate, it was gone the headstone a blank canvas. I desperately searched the area for signs that the headstone had been replaced but there was no obvious signs. No fresh soil. The headstone was still green at the bottom with age.

It couldn’t be I desperately searched the cemetery to try an locate perhaps the correct headstone and maybe I was in the wrong location?

I couldn’t be! I have visited this exact location every month for the last 10 years. How could I forget the location of my mother’s grave!

It was as if the world was destroying the traces of Emma Shearing. Like she was some what of a mistake that the world had allowed to be created.

I sprinted home, terrified of what I had just seen. I ran through the front door. The house was deserted. It looked like it had been abandoned for years. No trace of my aunts.

I proceeded to look at my hand and it was slowly disappearing.

The Shearing family was no more.

The last time I saw my mother was 10 years ago. It’s been that many years without her, and I’m holding up as bets as I can. I turned seventeen a month ago; although I actually don’t know if it’s been a month. There’s a possibility it’s been more. I’ve lost track of time because I’m a bit preoccupied trying to not be killed with the world crumbling around me, everywhere I look. Ever since the economy crumbled and the massacre started it’s been nothing but war and death. The end times are very,, interesting. I see people scramble like dogs and fighting over food or resources like mad men. I’m the last sane on it seems, I just hope I will find any shred of hope somewhere.

The last time I seen my mother was 10 years ago... until today, and every bit of rage, pain and hatred i thought I had expelled from myself came rushing back. My teeth clenched as I bit back the words that were clawing their way out of my throat. “What do you want?” I asked quietly. She smiled like nothing was wrong and shoved her way past me into my home. Invading my sanctum. God I hated her. Prowling behind her I asked again why she was here. “To see you silly, it’s been such a long time. Why don’t you pop the kettle on and we will have a catch up.” She suggested as she moved my things around. Batting her hands away from my things I whirled around. “No, get out. Get out of my home, get out of my life, stay away from me. I hate you, I never want to see you again.” I snarled as I bodily shoved her out onto the sidewalk. Tears filled her eyes as she realised I was serious. “But I’m your mother! You can’t do this to me! I brought you into this world!” She shrieked through the closed door. I ignored her and rested my forehead on the cool wood of the door. Wishing she would leave.

It took hours of frantic pacing and hectic cleaning for me to calm my racing heart and jangling nerves, every noise left me jumping and spooked. It was always the same when I had dealt with her. Questions whirled around my head, how had she found me? How long till she appeared again? Would I have to leave again? It’s a shameful thing to run from your own mother, but I couldn’t WOULDNT have anything to do with her. Never again.

I was driving down the highway, pedal to the metal and the music blaring. The window was open, my cigarette was lit and my takeout had already been discarded. It was late, and the can of Red Bull I had an hour ago had worn off. I was tempted to pull over and buy another one, but I just wanted to get home.

But that didn’t happen. In the blink of an eye, my car flipped. It bounced a few times then rolled, eventually coming to a stop.

My head was pounding. Reaching up, my hand came away covered in blood. My legs were trapped, twisted at a horrific angle that sent spears of pain through my legs when I moved. But, something was there. A shadow against the darkness, sucking in the light, dragging the oxygen from my lungs. I couldn’t breathe. Everything started to go fuzzy around the edges. My legs hurt, my head hurt, my back and my neck hurt. For a moment, I just closed my eyes and let go, hoping to never wake again if it meant this agony.

Then something grabbed me. It pulled at my collar, and ripped me from the car, throwing me to the ground. I cried out in pain, in fear, but couldn’t move, a cripple at the side of the road.

The shadow towered over me, staring down. At first, I was to afraid to look at it. Then, with an effort, I forced myself to look up, and my jaw dropped.

It was my mother. But that couldn’t be true. The last time I saw my mother was ten years’ ago. At her funeral. Where we had her buried.

Last time I saw my mother, was ten years ago. But it feels like a thousand tears ago. I cried so much I made a river flow. Fears what made me cry you a river. Now I blow my mind with liquor. I can cry a perfect flow river. But I can’t drink a perfect liver. Sink in sorrow, hope tomorrow I can find myself. Hang my memories on a shelf. To good wealth is good health. But i’m not very wealthy. Tomorrow I either get a hangover or I hang upon the ceiling. The feeling is sickening. But tomorrow, is just another day.