Hover Over Me

I am standing near the table in my room, adjacent to my bed where mum is seated, weeping. I can see her, but she can’t see me though I know she wishes she could. She’s calling my name again, and her lips are trembling with each syllable. “Alexander,” she says. But there is no reply. She looks different, but not in a good way. Her eyes are sitting atop dark puffs of flesh, and her skin is pale. How long has she been wearing nothing but a piece of cloth, loosely wrapped around her body? Since I left her presence? She runs a shaky hand through her hair, further dishevelling it. “Alex,” she mutters. “Come back to mummy.” She curls up on the bed and hugs her knees tight. “I’m here,” I say. But she does not hear. I move closer and lie next to her. It was better when I was here, my real self. Where I am, is a land of many that hover like me, that drift around our former world and look into the eyes of those we once knew. And how did I get here? To this new world, I mean. The truth is, I do not know. One day I was there, the next day I was here, just like that. The only thing I remember is trying out some tablets mummy used to take when she got sad or anxious. They looked just like mints, but yellow.