Regression

A short story that I wrote a year ago, edited.

Shell DeToni

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Where am I?

I don’t understand.

Is this a dream?

Why is that woman singing my name?

“Sweet Angeline I loved you much more than poets say in rhyme, waaaakkkke up punkin.”

“Mom?” The sound of my childlike voice alarmed me to the point of tears.

In a futile attempt to assess the situation, I began to analyze how this could be that I’m once again a small child. Wearing a Wonder Woman nightgown, I lay in a very uncomfortable spring bed in a bedroom that I barely remember.

Panic stricken and with wet cheeks, I try to find a rational explanation of why I’ve suddenly woken up as my three-year old self.  “I should not be here.”

Misunderstanding my predicament, mother comes to me for comfort.  “Did you have a bad dream sweetie?” Scooping me up in her lap, she holds tight and rocks us both in perfect unison…

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