❝Hush little baby, don't say a word,
Your wails of pain cannot be heard.
And if you fail to listen to my advice,
I'm sorry, but I'll have to have your throat sliced.
Bit by bit till you're gurgling on the gore,
Till the sweet baby in town remains no...
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Ayla gasped loudly, her blissful sleep ruined with another piercing headache, the sound cutting the silence that lingered in the air. Her frantic eyes searched the room, relief calming down her galloping heart when she realized that her mind was only playing tricks on her vulnerable self, and that the source of her rampant breathing was just a nightmare.
Just a nightmare, she repeated to herself in her head.
Her petite body shivered, feeling cold all over as a result of the accumulated sweat that was cooling down rapidly. Picking up the air conditioning remote that was resting on her side table, she turned the cooling down. Next, she pulled open the drawer, and picked up a white container.
Her mother's voice echoed in her ears as she felt the container, 'Take these pills every time you have a bad dream.'
The bottle was purely white, just like the pills that lay inside. On any normal medicinal drug's bottle, you would see the name of said drug, along with the ingredients and instructions. However, this bottle had no labels, ingredients or components on it but, Ayla payed no heed to the suspicions at the back of her mind, popping one in her mouth before swallowing it down; the pill leaving a bitter taste at the back of her tongue.
What else should she have done? She could avoid the pills but she had crossed out that option when she fainted once in class, because of a severe headache. They got worse if not contained, and the dreams returned, a while after she slept. They destroyed her sleep so she decided to talk to her mother about it and in return, she got these pills.
'One pill every night,' was the only instruction she had received with the bottle. But, the way her mother had said it was enough to bound her to the rules, making her follow it obediently. like a lost puppy, without questions.
Maybe if she could ask questions she would have.
Her mom wasn't dead, just equivalent to dead. She was rarely to never home. Ayla remembered the last time she had met her, was about four years ago- when she was twelve years old. Her opinion was that it's injudicious for a mother to leave her daughter at home, exposed to a few staff members and the rash world outside but, mothers know best. Still, she would mostly write letters to her, and on lucky days, she would get an answer, too but, those moments also occurred once in a blue moon.
She had many suspicions regarding her mother; Ayla had no address, and her letters had none either. Her mom had just told her to write her name at the envelope and post it. She did not know where her mother worked or what she did but still, she got replies to her letters.
Her gaze went upwards up and a small smile grazed upon her lips at the sight of a dream catcher, dangling from the ceiling. Gently caressing the colored feathers at the end, she sighed. How she wished dream catchers were real. This was the only memory she had of her late father but she cherished it with all her heart.
"Whenever you're in trouble, whenever you're in pain, whenever you miss me, just talk to the me, I'll be on the moon," She recalled the last words her father had said to her. As she was only six years old then, she had agreed, but stopped after realizing that the moon wasn't going to help her solve her problems.
She missed her father a lot. He was the one who raised her, taught her how to ride a bicycle, how to do chores, cook low-key, and do her hair. She never minded it as they had an exquisite bond between them which made them stronger than ever. Her dad was cool, according to a teenager's definition of cool,but one thing stood out the most and that was his white, glowing hair. He's had white hair all his life which shone and glowed proudly but he would always cover it, either with a beanie or with a wig. She didn't know how he got it or why, she just knew that it shone because of love.
She was sixteen now and every sixteen year old makes the most rash decisions of their life. Ayla, however, was different. While most of her friends went out to get drunk and party, she stayed at home completing her homework. While they spent their money on clothing and jewelries, she spent hers on books and tuition. They envied her life for having complete freedom, and she envied theirs for having the love of both their parents.
The headache returned and with much more intensity than before. Wincing slightly, she clutched her forehead in an attempt to ease the pain. On multiple occasions she had asked her mother to take her to the doctor but, with a horrified look on her face, she would refuse every time.
Exasperated, she hopped out of bed and dragged her somnolent self to the kitchen downstairs. She sluggishly fiddled with the contents of the fridge, until she found some boiled water. She put a tea bag in it, microwaved it, added her desired contents in it, and gulped it down.
She looked out of the window and noticed the moon, which was brightly lit. The sudden urge of talking to it and releasing all of her pent up anger hit her like a firetruck, but she concluded that it was a silly thing to do. With that thought, she walked back to her room, and made herself comfortable underneath the covers of her bed.
Knowing that sleep wasn't going to come to her anytime soon, she opened her mouth to sing a melody that she hadn't sung in years. A nursery rhyme that her father would sing to her, everyday before bed.
"The man on the moon," She started with a croaked voice, slightly afraid of the emotions the rhyme would bring.
"Looked out of the moon, Looked out of the moon and said It's time for all children on the Earth, To think about getting to bed!"
She chuckled when she felt a tear rolling down her cheek. She was supposed to be strong. She wasn't supposed to feel like this, she was supposed to have fun in her teenage life. But she did feel it, she felt the weight of it all on her shoulders. Her father was dead and her mother was rarely there for her. She sniffed, rolling over to look at the moon, once again.
I love you, dad.
With that thought, she yawned and soon fell into the depths of slumber, the thoughts of headaches long gone, like her childhood, like her innocence.
