"When did I know about this?" I asked my self, the answer was 'I cannot remember.'
Seven-year-old kids could remember everything. That was a stupid lie. My life was much shorter than adults.
"The world is strange," I muttered.
"Sorry, what did you say Truman?" my beautiful and kind mother asked me. Her warmly brown hair is too soft, different with me.
If I said it she wouldn't understand what I said, because I didn't understand either.
Mother was beautiful, kind and always smiled at me. Father was gentle, handsome and smiled at me. All of my neighbors were funny. Their pets were funny too, and did not try to eat me.
I saw my cup of orange juice.
My home was wonderful; my room was decorated with my favorite things, my bed was so soft and smelled like sun, my dinning room was filled with delicious food, and my orange juice was cool and sweet.
But it was strange. Everything was perfect and I always had lived there. It was like a toy house. I didn't know why. I knew the difference between a toy house and my home. They were more different than similar.
"Why don't you drink your orange juice? It is good for your cold."
"How did you know about my cold, Mom?" I asked Mother in my mind. I did not cough or have a fever, yet. I just felt bad, but I had not told Mother. It was still morning.
"Yes Mom, I will drink."
I did not know anything. In the past I usually asked many questions of an adult. But now I couldn't ask her. Something scary would happen. The floor would destroy and I would fell off the dark.
"Mom, may I go to bed again? I feel bad."
"Sure, are you okay? Do you want to meet the doctor?"
Her voice was worried, but her eyes were smiling very happily.
I was not sure how I could go to my bed. My body was hot and my world was cold. I felt like I was a melted marshmallow. I could not control my body. My blue toy airplanes and other toys looked distorted. Where were those voices from?
What was real?
Mother's cold hand touched my face. I was surprised.
"What do you want?"
"Mom? I want the real story."
I did not know how she could understand.
"…… When I was younger than you, my mother wanted…"
She started her story. She was very different then. She was like a boy. She climbed the tree, cried very loud, hurries to run and ate the cookie with dirty hands. She was not smiley and kind. I could not see her. I could not touch it. I could not see it. I could not go there. I could not experience it. Her story didn't start 'Once upon a time'. Those stories were like fairytales.
But I could tell that her stories were 'real' stories.
What was the difference between real and fantasy?
"I was very worried, when the doctor said you were in shock."
She was still smiling very happily. But was it strange? What was normal? I always lived in that world. It was my world. I would live in that world.
The people were always kind. I was not hungry. My world worked around me. I was the center of my world.
"It is the real world."
Mother saw me like a doll.
"It is my world."
It did not matter to me. I did not want an answer.