Fantasy

The screams filled the room. They filled the air she breathed. They filled her life.

She opened her eyes and looked down at her baby, enjoying the moment. She always wanted to be needed and now her baby was again longing for her attention. She was needed and the world had a warm tint of ochre that felt like the last ray of sun in summer.

She always loved sunsets.

But it was dark already. The day was gone and, once again, her baby needed to sleep.

She switched on the spinning lamp and started singing the soft tune of the only lullaby she knew, and the baby's lament became immediately softer. She stood up where he could see her. The tune became a story, and she became the characters, her hands were the dragons and princes, the princesses and the castles of her lullaby. Their stories were flying around the room gently soothing the baby's cry. It did not take long before it mitigated. She could feel his eyes fixed on her, dreaming already of that far away land. It was the sweetest of lullabies, she thought, and wondered for a moment how would she know. She never heard any other before. She realised then how she lost track of the story for a moment, but her baby was finally asleep. So she tenderly kissed his forehead and left the room quietly.

The shapes of dragons and princes, of princesses and castles kept moving from the spinning lamp, filling the room, filling the air that she breathed and filling her life. In the cradle, with a cold blue tone that was already turning into a soft black, laid a tiny corpse.