My mother was gone. There wasn’t even a mark left on the floor. It was senseless. How could it be that my mother, who had just been in front of me, was lost to me again?

The world blurred through my tears, and my body moved without me. Before I knew it, I was snatching boxes off the shelves and cramming them into my arms. I didn’t care what it was or what I’d do with it. I just wanted something, and I wanted it fast. I was feral.

I don’t remember how I got there, but eventually, I found myself in front of the dairy aisle, staring down at rows of milk. It was like all the absurdity of the world had just slapped me in the face. I couldn’t take it anymore. The boxes I was holding fell to my feet as I flung the glass doors open, grabbing gallon after gallon and hurling them across the aisle. The plastic containers burst, and milk gushed out, leaving great white pools in their wake.

I lost my footing on the slick floor. Pain shot through my body with the impact against the ground. Aching, I clutched my arms to my sides, and turned over. To my surprise, I had come face-to-face with a bright, smiling face. It was the same smiling mascot that I had seen earlier in the display.

I blinked twice. What was a cereal box doing here? If I was standing where I thought I was when I grabbed these boxes, then they should have been cake mixes. What it all meant came hurtling towards me. I had never gone to the baking aisle, and I might not even have seen my mother.

It felt like karma for all those years I joked about her being gone. I didn’t really mean it, but I always joked that she was taking too long to come back with the milk. How would I ever have a proper bowl of cereal again without her? It was hilarious, and now the joke is now on me.

“Nothing is real,” I breathed.

At the corner of my consciousness, I briefly registered frantic employees skittering about. One must have decided to call the police because some time later I was confronted by a uniformed officer. We exchanged some words. Whatever I said must not have been enough to persuade him to let me go, because it wasn’t long after that that I found myself at the station.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

I was in a plain, white room. There was one table in the center and two folding chairs on either side. The fluorescent bulbs buzzed overhead. Finally, the doorknob clicked and turned. A young police officer opened the door and stepped inside. He sat down across from me and clasped his hands together, swallowing hard.

“Your name is Victor Lewis. Is that correct?” he asked.

I nodded limply, and he moved on.

“And your mother’s name is Barbara Lewis; is that correct too?”

I nodded again. He then paused before continuing, his brows furrowing.

“I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but your mother is dead,” he confided.

“What?” I gaped. “But I just… I just saw her.”

He dropped his gaze and continued.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

I swallowed hard.

“How?”

“What?”

“Tell me how it happened. Tell me how she died!” I seethed.

He seemed taken aback and began flipping through the folder he had brought in with him.

“It says here that seventeen years ago, an air strike was directed at your town. The area sustained heavy casualties. However, both you and your mother were rescued by emergency services. Despite our best efforts, your mother, Barbara Lewis, died shortly after arriving at the hospital. She had sustained fatal injuries, and nothing could be done. The hospital staff reported you missing after being unable to find you around the time of her death. Under normal circumstances, a manhunt would have been conducted for a missing teenager, but the sheer quantity of victims left the rescue service short-staffed, and a search was never conducted. Your file still lists you as a missing person.”

“What?” I gripped the table so fiercely that my knuckles turned white.

“Now, Mr. Lewis–”

He was asking me questions and giving me information, but the only thing I could think about was that he had called me “mister”. When had I become a “mister” exactly? In my mind, I was still a boy. It suddenly occurred to me that this police officer in front of me, who I saw as a man, was younger than I was. Time froze then. I saw his mouth move, but I couldn’t hear a word.

“I think I’m going to throw up.” I groaned, tasting bile in my mouth.

Startled, he jolted upwards and showed me the way to the bathroom down the hall. I stumbled inside, and once the door closed, I was alone again.