My dreams have died. I have been silent in my grief over these losses. They fought until the end, struggling for many years. I knew they were terminal so long ago, but I still kept hope that they would be healed. Unfortunately, only one of them made it. I am a mother left with one child. I birthed these precious dreams and nurtured them, cradling their frail bodies in my arms, pouring into them with everything I had. And now that they are gone, I have little left. No dreams. No passion. No energy to find and pour into something new.
I named my dreams: Music, Love, Family, Success, Financial Stability, Beauty, and My Future. Once one was infected, they all succumb to the wretched sickness that led to their death. I don't know where it began, but the first to die was my beloved Music. I always loved Music best, though I wouldn't tell the others. He was my joy, the light in my eyes, the most accurate expression of myself. He was weak among his peers. He could never keep up, and it discouraged us both. Watching him struggle to fit in among his kind, to match their ability and strength, made me ache. I think his weak constitution and waning confidence quickening his passing.
It is difficult to realize the painful inferiority of a product of your own DNA. It was my fault. He came from me, and as I noticed through the deaths of all the others as well, my DNA must be tainted, riddled with failure, damaged, impure. I do not care to bring another being into the world condemned by its genes. I will not birth another dream, let alone a human being.
The next to die were Beauty, Love, and Family. They were triplets, conjoined at the side, one heart between the three. They were always a sickly bunch, with little potential for growth despite my prayers and hope. My dream for Beauty fell sick first. She had always been diseased, less attractive than her peers and twice their size. The biggest of the three dreams, I prayed for her most often and tried to cultivate her strength most fervently. Every wish upon a star, every eyelash, every dandelion, every 11:11 was dedicated to her health. I wished and prayed and fought for her, but she never stood a chance. The signs of her disease were much more obvious than the others, written all over her body, but the sickness in Love and Family were inward, silently festering. By the time I realized what had been happening, it was much too late to save any of them. The damaged Beauty had infected my dream of Love which then passed it on to my dream of Family. Because they were conjoined, not only did they share this disease, but they could not exist separate. The failure of one's heart was a failure for them all, and now, I have lost the three.
Success and Financial Stability watched the deaths of their siblings. I saw the tears well in their desperate eyes, and I didn't have to tell them that they would also contract the illness. They knew. Of all the deaths, theirs were most resigned. They knew they could not exist in a world without their brothers and sisters, and I did not know how to convince them to fight, that their fate could be different, that they could still become great despite the tragedy. They simply laid down silently. I held their hands as they gave in to the poisonous virus and watched salty tears streak their faces. They wanted to survive, but they hadn't the strength to find their own way, a new way.
At this point, I am terribly afraid for My Future, the sole survivor of this plague and the youngest and most influenced by his siblings. Without them to guide and direct him, what will he become? He grows empty and lost, and I am not sure that I can shape him into what I want him to be. He moves recklessly onward without a concrete identity. Without much direction, he is more and more confused, and I am afraid he will find himself in a dangerous situation that will also threaten his life. I am more afraid that his grief will cause him to end it himself.
