You open your mouth. At first, no sound comes out - just increasingly rapid breaths. Finally you find your voice, and your own scream shocks your ears: "Mom!"

The back door slams open and she comes out on the porch. Your eyes are stuck on your own arm, at the garden shears on the ground beneath it, at the chunk you took out of your own body - at the red and blue wires poking out of the hole.

"Oh. Oh, honey!" Your mother is at your side. Her arms move falteringly, like she isn't sure what to do with her hands. She settles on putting her hands on your shoulders. "Honey, look at me. Look at me. I love you. I want you to remember that I love you, okay?"

"What's happening?" You're hyperventilating. "What - What are those wires? Why am I not bleeding?"

"You're going to be fine. When your father gets home, he'll fix you up. It'll be like it never happened. Let's just go inside, okay? Let's go inside."

You tear your eyes away from the thing hiding under your skin and look your mother in the eye. There are tears on her cheeks. "What am I?"

She squeezes your shoulders. "You are my child. Nothing will ever change that, do you hear me? Now, let's go inside. Please."