Sanna Amari
The Mother and the odd
Start Writing!
Clara Becker, a part-time nurse and single mother of two lively twins, had just finished tackling a mountain of laundry while trying to whip up a third breakfast. The hustle and bustle of her suburban home in Ohio, USA, was the familiar backdrop to her daily routine: the laughter of her children, the smell of fresh waffles, the gentle hum of the dishwasher. A moment of routine that would shatter in the next.
Suddenly it was there. The transparent pop-up interface that materialized in front of her tired but caring brown eyes. She almost tripped over the pile of children’s toys. Her first thought was a mixture of shock and panic for her children, who were playing in the living room. Her twins, eight-year-old Lily and Finn, who were the same age, were running around carefree, excluded from the phenomenon of the interface and therefore without a screen in front of their eyes. Clara had to get rid of it. The thing was in her way!
"Mommy, what is that?" Little Lily stood in the doorway, her eyes wide but focused on Clara, not the flickering phantom. Clara felt a wave of nausea rising. Was it contagious? A virus? Her protective instinct sounded the alarm. The words "start game" flickered, an absurd request in this moment of absolute loss of control. What kind of sick joke was that? A hack? A mass psychosis? Her mind raced, searching for an explanation as she looked around, for a remote control, a switch, something that could end this nightmare. But there was nothing.
Outside, the world was falling apart. The shrill wailing of sirens mingled with the crunching of metal on the road. A distant clang made them flinch. Cars that had been parked quietly seconds ago were now crashing uncontrollably into houses or other vehicles. The screams of neighbors, merging into a cacophonous chorus of terror, filtered through the closed windows. Clara felt her heart hammering against her ribs. She had to get her children to safety. But where?
Then came the impact. A deafening, bursting noise. The wall of the living room exploded inwards, splinters of wood and plaster flew through the air, followed by the distorted sound of metal being torn apart. A car that had skidded uncontrollably on the road had smashed through the wall. Although it had lost most of its momentum, it had torn a huge gash in Clara’s safe world.
A shrill child’s cry.
"Finn!" Clara could only see the car protruding into the room and her son, who had been playing right there, now lying motionless in the rubble. The shock paralyzed her for a split second, then adrenaline exploded in her veins, coupled with a panic she had never experienced before. Everything around her blurred, the noise became a distant echo. Only Finn. Just her child.
At that moment, as she ran towards her son to pull him out of the rubble, the interface spun before her eyes as if by magic. The twelve classes blurred into a single, clear image burned into her mind. Healer. Her destiny. Her only way.
"Healer," Clara whispered, her voice brittle with tension, but with an unwavering, motherly determination. She rushed to Finn, hands outstretched, ready to soothe any wound, calm any panic. She didn’t care about the chaos outside. Only her children mattered. And what she could do to protect them. She would heal him. She had to heal him.