Weeks Without a Soul

It had been weeks, far too many weeks, since she looked at me last.

I walked into her prison space and stopped right in front of her, hoping, praying that she would lift her head this time. But she remained the same: lifeless, unmoving, her eyes feeling empty as if her soul had already left her body.

“You better not die on me, Ma,” I said quietly.

My words felt useless, like a blunt weapon unable to reach her, unable to stir anything inside her.

Is something wrong? I wondered.

I waved my hand slowly in front of her face, desperate to catch her attention, but...