Apple pie was my favorite.

But the way my mama made it was better than anyones.

Cindy made it with a secret.

Dashing sugar into the center when she folded it.

Every defiance made her smile.

Fire warmed the pies and cooked them through and through.

Getting everyone into the bakery was easy with the promise of sweetness in every bite.

Happiness was high in the air, smiles lining everyones faces.

Indeed, it was noon as we sold out.

Just as the customers left, Mama Cindy fell to the floor with a great gasp.

Kindness choked Mama.

Longing for life allowed her to be taken by the doctors.

Minutes, hours, days passed before I heard any news.

No one seemed obligated to tell me.

Oblivious, they were, to the fact that Mama was no longer making apple pies with that small defiance in the center.

Please don’t let it be long.

Quitting was never an option with Mama.

Ready…

Set…

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

Unless her eyes being closed, her breath being slower meant she was healing, I wouldn’t speak to the doctors.

Very often, I held her hand to my chest.

Whispering prayers to whoever listened.

Xenoblasts, those crystals, carved deep marks in Mama’s frail arms.

Yesterday, she was fine.

Zero, now, was her heart beats.