Hope
The sun has already set by the time I open my eyes, leaving the world bathed in hues of deep blue and shadows. My head throbs, a dull, rhythmic pounding, and every inch of my body aches like I've been tossed into traffic—which, judging by the gravel embedded in my palms and the taste of blood in my mouth, might not be far from the truth.
I'm leaning on a shoulder, watching the beautiful sunset view, and the hand constantly rubs my hair and my shoulder like my father does to me and Annika.
We'd sit on each part of his arms, watching the sunset at the beach or mountain top.
Hot, exultant tears trickle down my eyes, but I wipe them off immediately, knowing this is clearly a hallucination.
This isn't real—it can't be. He's gone. They're all gone.
But the hand doesn't stop stroking my shoulder.
"I see you're awake," a voice says smoothly. It's unfamiliar, not my father's.
My body stiffens instantly. That voice doesn't belong in my memories.
