I walked into the house, the house my mother took care of me in. It killed me knowing I would have to leave, the emotional pain was just overwhelming. I could feel the tears burning over my eye lids; my vision blurring as the memories flooded through my mind. Each memory playing over and over in my inner being, the words echoed into my emotions, and it draw me deeper into my lonesome nightmares that had become but a sad reality.
"You see that rocking chair?" a voice would call into my mind, though it didn't sound much like mine, but I replied every time. "Yes." "Your mother would rock you back and forth on that chair, singing Silent Night until your crying would stop. And once you were asleep, she'd talk about how you would be a queen when you grow up." But how did this voice know? How did this voice find me? Because, for one thing, the voice isn't familiar and I never had a father figure to tell me my past.
But it continued, hours and hours of memories told in a narrative voice. Stories of me that even my mother hasn't told me. Was my guardian angel here to protect me?