She was old. Too old. Her beauty lost among wrinkles. Her body crouched low as if broken from years of work and loneliness, she sat on the couch believing she was home, yet when she saw the strangers who claim they were her family, she knew she wasn’t. She knew her memory was getting worse, so she no longer threw fits.
She was coddled like a child, spoken to like one and spoon-fed by one of her children. She knew she was cared for and safe but she still hated every single moment. She hated being a burden and hated that she needed a babysitter.
She looked around the room and saw no one nearby, and then she begged and pleaded with her creator to die. She cried and begged and pleaded for him to save her from this life, for she found no purpose, her body was weak and she cried out with every move. Her memory was not as it used to be, and so was her sight. She only desired death but the reaper never came to claim her soul.
She thought no one could hear her anguish, but everyone did. Her children cried next to her, incapable of helping her find peace. They wanted nothing but to help the mother who sacrificed everything for their happiness. Strange is this world, you are born into it needing help till you find your independence then that is taken away by age and you are back to being a baby that needs help.