Your bed.
A familiar ceiling.
The sounds of a neighbour proceeding with a renovation, pushing their luck with the morning noise restriction.
This is home. A place of love and laughter and comfort, far from the realities of your recent experiences.
How can you be here after all this time? Wasn’t your home lost along with the rest of the city when the war began? You watched it burn. You were held by your older sibling as fear seared like acid inside your stomach and anguish, like you’ve never felt before, overwhelmed you.
“Too much! More precision. Start again.” A gruff voice. Authoritative. Confident.
The kitchen.
Tiger, your mother’s cat, nudges your leg and circles eagerly as you open a can of pet food. She stops to sniff at the inside of your ankle. You smile and squirm as her whiskers tickle your bare leg.
Your father, as usual, sits in his study, poring tirelessly over maps and scribbled notes on a theory he calls ‘The Puzzle’.
“Get us in there”. A gruff voice. Authoritative. Confident.
A faint flicker of a memory. A man not unknown to you…
Your father calls to you. You look over and he gestures for you to approach, his familiar fingers moving in an unfamiliar fashion.
Something’s not right.
You try to stop walking, but your body disobeys. Like a marionette on strings, you jolt towards the study, muscles straining in protest.
“No, no, stop. It cannot be forced.” A gruff voice. Authoritative. Frustrated.
“Start again.”