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.