The little child sat under the hammock. It was a March afternoon, and the meadow near his house was in full bloom in shades of bright yellow and red and violet. Fluffy white clouds moved slowly against the warm blue of the sky. He quietly sipped from a glass of lemonade, too big for his grip and too bitter for his taste as he lounged under the hammock, a gentle spring breeze carrying the pollen straight to his nose. He sneezed but there was no one to say “bless you” and his heart clenched. He ate from a packet of nuts, assorted and roasted, leaving out the wallnuts. The ice in the lemonade melted slowly and the afternoon changed colors to orange.

He stood up and carried himself inside and locked the doors. He marched to his bedroom, his steps slow and sluggish, oddly relaxed. No one told him to brush his teeth or wash his face. He sunk into his pillows, his eyes glancing at the mural in his room as he drifted to sleep. The morning was cold and dull and gray. He made his way to the dining hall but no one cooked in the kitchen. The air was crisp and quiet as he sat down at the table. His gaze fell to the kitchen, missing the familiar silhouette. He made himself some toast with jam and honey and a dollop of butter. He added six spoons of sugar to his hot chocolate and sat down on the couch.

The tele hummed and moaned but he paid no attention to the sounds, the couch felt empty without the familiar weight. He ate slowly, the sugar and the sweet not providing even an ounce of relief. He made his way to the bath, staring at the bubbles as the tub filled. The scent of bath salts mixed with the steam filled the air, turning everything foggy. He dipped himself in like a tea bag a few times before sinking beneath the surface. He turned up the temperature but still felt cold. He lay inside till his body shriveled up like a prune.

He stepped out the tub and there was no warm, fluffy towel waiting for him. He patted and wiped his pale milky skin and brushed and combed his smooth blonde hair. There were no clothes waiting for him on the bed and he sighed. After dressing, he poured himself some lemonade and a bowl of roasted nuts and made his way outside. It was yet another beautiful noon, the meadow bloomed as he sat underneath the hammock, but it did not swing. The familiar lump in the hammock replaced by a taut emptiness. He made his way back inside.

He went to a room and unlocked it. It opened with a pop, the interiors untouched, left as they had been. He took in the scent, breathing deeply, holding the air in his lungs for as long as he could. He made his way to the closet and pulled out a sundress, carrying it to the bay window. He curled up in the sun beam as he took in its scent, his eyes fluttering shut as he murmured softly, “mama” and drifted to sleep.