Thomas

Thomas couldn’t believe it. He was leaving everything behind and going back to a strange country that he barely spoke its language. He was going to get ripped from his life. He had no idea what to do. He was scared; what if people thought he was odd? Surely many people from his old school did. Many people in his school didn’t like him, nor were they interested in talking to him. What if people thought he was retarded for having dyslexia? Could people be that mean? They surely were in his old school. He had no idea how the hell he would be able to make new friends; it was already a miracle he had 5. Now, all of his hard work is going to go with the wind and he would have to start from zero. And his father still didn’t know why he wasn’t too enthusiastic to go back. He hadn’t gone back in, what? 10 years? Since the day his mother…
His mother… Thomas wished he could remember her much. He was only 5 when she left for good. He did, however, had few memories of her left here and there in his brain: Her short blonde hair, her rough yet gentle hands, her eyes that held great grief in them. She never spoke. He always remembered her wearing this white gown and sitting in a white room, staring in the void at nothing in particular…
Thomas knew his mother wasn’t always like that; his father would always tell him about the time before they got married, before they had him.

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