What Once Was, Though Lost, Now Appears Chapter 1
The dirt rumbles beneath me. Water flows through the cracks left by the earthquake. Wind rushes through the leaves on the trees, and fire dances around the ground in a spiral as a woman emerges from the fissure - a middle-aged woman with tan skin, a curvy hourglass body, and dark brown hair with a chestnut auburn tint. But it’s the eyes - those green-blue eyes full of warmth and compassion that stop me.
She’s clothed in vines and leaves, with more leaves braided through her hair like a crown. The wind whispers, “Mother. The great Mother has come.”
All of a sudden, an annoying sound appears: “Mia Elizabeth Whitlock!”
The sight before me starts going black as the ground shakes - but as the vision fades, I realize there is no earthquake. It’s my godmother, Eleanor Hills, an older woman with blonde hair and kind brown eyes, an annoyed look on her normally joyful wrinkled face.
“Get up,” she says. “You’re going to miss the bus.”
I groan tiredly. There’s no way it’s already 6 o’clock.
With another groan, I drag myself upright, my face twisted into such a displeased look that Aunt El actually laughs. I shoot her a glare - or at least try to. It probably comes off more like an angry, half-asleep cat.
I feel like I haven’t slept at all.
Like the dream - the vision - drained every bit of energy out of me.
All I want is to fall back into the blankets and disappear for another hour... or ten.
But when I throw the blanket off me, I freeze.
My bed is full of dirt.
Confusion rushes through my veins. I look up at my Aunt, ready to say I don’t know, I don’t understand, but she’s staring at the bed with a look I’ve never seen before - afraid, like something is truly wrong. Her face twists as if she swallowed a lemon, and I swear I hear her whisper, “Oh no... not so soon”
My confusion only deepens.
Before I can ask what’s wrong, what’s happening, the expression vanishes. She replaces it with the kind, familiar look I know so well as she pulls me out of bed.
“It’s just a bit of dirt,” she says quickly. “Must’ve been the cat.”
I gave her a “really are you serious?” look. There’s no way the cat did this. The whole bed is a dirt mound.
She gives me a tight smile. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’m going to handle it.”
When she sees I’m still staring at her, she continues, “Now go take a really quick shower. We don’t want you to be late for your first day of senior year.”
That sentence makes me groan even deeper. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s the misery that is school.
I swear under my breath as I walk into the bathroom, and the moment I pass the mirror, my breath hitches. Just like my bed, I’m covered in dirt - as if I crawled straight out of the ground. My sun-kissed skin is glistening with sweat, which only makes the dirt stick worse. My green-grey eyes look exhausted, but the worst part is my hair. It looks like a wild owl nested in it, the brown strands so tangled and knotted it’s almost impressive.
I lift a hand slowly, trying to tame the mess, but of course, it does nothing. And I’d never admit it out loud, but my hand gets stuck. Just my luck - standing here with my fingers trapped in the bird’s nest of slight curls all tied together as one. Mutters of “ow, ow, ow” tear through me as I finally get my hand free from the wild beast.
I clean up as fast as I can so I can eat something before making one of the most dreadful trips of my life: school. I breathe slowly as my now dreadfully dressed self - tank top, sweater, and jeans - steps out of the bathroom. Still unhappy, I grab my bag as I hurry past my room and down the hallway stairs.
I nearly trip over my own feet as I rush into the kitchen, stealing a strip of bacon and downing the rest of Aunt El’s coffee in one go. She shouts “Mia!” but I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. “Love you!” I call, kissing her cheek before sprinting out the door toward the bus, bacon still hanging from my mouth.
Thankfully, I made it just in time. The bus pulls up with a hiss, and I jog the last few steps before climbing aboard. The driver gives me a tired “Morning” and I mumble it back, already half-asleep again. I walk down the aisle of the crammed bus, squeezing past backpacks and knees until I finally reach my seat. That second, I do, I collapse into it, letting out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
And as I sink down, out of the corner of my window, I swear I see the woman from my dream - standing there on the sidewalk, smiling at me. But when I blink, she’s gone. Just ... gone.
I let out a shaky breath and rub my eyes. I really need to stop staying up so late. I’m halfway to sleep deprivation if I’m not already there.
