5 Pictures Of You

'Amy, wake up!'

I lay in bed. In bed? Where am I? What happening? The monster? That bitch? What am I doing here?

The bed is no stranger to me, it's my bed. The bed I slept in for as long as I can remember, but it's different. It's bigger. My legs, the legs I remember extending the length of my hard, spring-punctured mattress, they reach no further than half-way now. The bed itself, it is mine. I'm sure of it. The floral patterns and crooked stitching of the duvet and pillow prove as much, but the stains, and the tears, and the exposed springs poking out of every burst fibre…they're gone.

'Amy, I said wake up! Don't make me come up there, young lady!'

'Mummy?' The word tumbles from my mouth, but I don't recognise the voice. It's not my voice. It's not as deep as my voice. I clear my throat and try again. 'Mummy'. No change. Lifting myself out of bed, I jolt to my nightstand. Rummaging through the top draw, I find a mirror, my mirror. A disk of glass contained within a cheap, pale wooden frame. Turning it over, the words "Forever Loved" is etched across the back.

My mirror.

Heart thumping, hands sweating, I lift the mirror to my face. Eyes closed; I peek through my eyelids. Hair still pink, eyes still brown, but my face. It's younger and more plump than it's been in years. The girl in the mirror, it is me, but a me that can't be any more than seven or eight years of age. Panic overflowing, the mirror slips from my fingers, shattering on the wooden floor below. My heart bursts from my chest as the broken glass shifts itself into position and reforms on the surface of the wooden frame.

I scream. I can't stop myself. Louder and more feral than a human being should be capable of sounding. Legs thump up the stairs, my mother bursts through the door.

'Ember's mercy! What's wrong? Are you hurt?' Tears roll down my cheeks as my mother scoops me into her arms. 'Amy, what's happened?' Panicked voice replaced by soothing tone, my mum runs her hand through my hair and down my back. Regaining composure, I let myself be comforted. Tears dry on my face as I savour my mother's embrace.

'I'm okay now, mummy', I say in her voice. High-pitched and melodious; a voice I recognise but can no longer claim as my own. My mum places me on my feet. She looks me up and down, no doubt checking to see what maiming could have inspired such an outburst. Satisfied I'm in no peril, she crosses her arms and hardens her face.

'What in Aspire is wrong with you? You almost gave me a heart attack!'

'I'm sorry, mummy. I thought I saw a monster under my bed.' The lie is improvised but effective. My mum's expression softens. She rubs her thumb on her forehead in a circular motion letting me know that she doesn't know how she should handle this situation. Taking advantage of my mother's hesitation, I take her hand and bury my head in her dress. 'I was so scared, Mummy.' Decided, my mum crouches down and pulls me into a hug.

'Sweetheart, there's nothing to be scared of. We don't get Tension beasts in Tanker village.'

'I know. I'm sorry, mummy. I just had a bad dream and I thought I saw something.'

'Don't be sorry, sweetheart. Just, try not to give Mummy such a scare next time.' Releasing me from her arms, my mum straightens her dress. 'You can stay up here for a little bit longer, but then it's time for breakfast.' Taking one last look, my mother walks back through the open door to my childhood bedroom.

Moving to the bed, I sit and cover my face with my hands. Deep breath in, deep breath out. I massage my eyelids with my thumb and index finger. How is this possible? One moment, I'm in a death battle against a monster of a beast, the next I'm here. My childhood bedroom; my childhood body. Then there's the mirror. This world is full of wonders, but nothing like that is even rumoured to be possible.

The aroma of fried meat fills my nostrils. Having subsisted on canned vegetables and questionable bartered scraps for most of my life, my stomach growls at the prospect of homecooked delicacies.

Fresh food has always been scarce in my village, with an ageing population, and none except me capable of harnessing Tension, we were always reliant on market traders and roaming vendors for fresh supplies. After all, our world is dying. The fields, barren. Animal life, few and far between. The very wood in the fireplace warming our homes can only be found within the merciful floors of the towers. With no resident benefactor to ascend the towers and fill our storerooms with their harvest, most days a meal of pickled meats with a slice of bread would be considered fine dining.

The scent makes no sense, but I don't care. Lifting myself off my bed and running to the door, I stride down the squeaking, carpeted staircase, skipping as many steps as my shrunken legs allow me to. My nose my guide, the sight of my mother sliding fried strips of who cares what meat, on to a plate delights my senses.

'Happy birthday, sweetheart.'

'Mummy, what is this?'

'Your father and I thought we'd do something special. A girl only turns eight once you know. Unfortunately, he can't be here until later. He's busy ferrying some very important people to a nearby town, but when he gets back, he has something special for just you.' My stomach sinks as recollection of this day fills my mind. Tears threaten to fall from my eyes. I blink them away. Not again, I've cried these tears before, I won't cry them again.

'Sweetheart, what's wrong?'

'Nothing, mummy. I just wish Daddy were here.' I still do. I remember this day so clearly now. The birthday breakfast my parents must have saved for months to afford. The men who came knocking at our door. The news that the bastards my father had transported had hijacked his carriage and land-dragon, making him unable to pay his taxes and causing him to be carted off into the Towers as a miner.

'So do I, sweetheart, but hey, when you see the surprise he got you, you'll see that his brief absence is worth it in the end. Good things come to those who…' My mother pauses, waiting for me to finish the mantra she repeated ad infinitum since before I could talk.

'Wait', I finish.

'That's right, Amy. Good things come to those who wait. Now eat up, sweetheart, before your food gets cold.'

Shovelling strips of juicy fried meat and gelatinous yellow bliss I've been told is something called scrambled eggs, I devour the food on the plate like a ravenous beast. Feet to the ground, I stand and rub my stomach in approval. Letting out a most unladylike belch, my mother and I succumb to fits of unrestrained laughter.

'Amy, wake up!'

A voice crashes through my skull. My left arm twists into an unnatural position. Falling to my knees, I cover my right ear with my arm and my left with my shoulder. Silence. Nothing can be heard, nothing but the protests of the voice in my head, and the irregular thudding of my heart.

I scream.

Silence.

Mouth agape, throat raw.

Silence.

As swiftly as it came, it ends. Arm in place, the only voice in my head my own. My mother's words refill the room.

'Darling, you're home early.' Standing now, I turn to face the entrance to the kitchen. Stood by the door frame, my father. His eyes radiate kindness. His smile, so warm it could keep the house through winter. He stands there, and in his arms, a two-wheeled contraption perfectly sized for my miniaturised stature.

'I don't understand', I whisper, thought leaking through mouth. 'How can he be here? This isn't what happened'.

'It's called a bicycle', my father says, ignoring my befuddlement. 'It's quite popular with the children in the city'

'Eric, I thought we were going to give that together'.

'I'm sorry, dear, I know I get too excited when it comes to spoiling our little girl.' My father balances the bicycle on the door. He stoops low and lifts me off my feet. Gently throwing me, he catches me and pulls me into his arms. 'Happy birthday, little girl.'

I latch on. Head buried in his shirt; I latch on. Unwilling to let him go again, I resist his soft attempts at dislodging me.

'I'm happy to see you too, but you can't play with your present while holding onto me.'

'Wake up!'

I fall out of my father's arms. Arms open embracing my memory, he stands frozen in time. Plank by plank, my house disassembles. As if they are mist before the wind, my parents evaporate before my eyes. The house gone, my parents gone, I stand in a field of black grass decorated only by pillars. The battle environment.

Drawn by some invisible force, I walk in my infantilised form towards a shattered pillar. My blood freezes as the sight of a girl sprawled in the rubble catches my eye. Blood pouring from wounds across her body. Shards of bone sticking out from her arm, the girl… it's me.

'Wake up, Amy. It's not real.' The girl says. 'The fight's not over yet, but it will be if you don't wake up.' Waves of heat flood over me. Standing in my peripheral, the shadow of a beast. Head turns, adrenaline pumps, the full presence of the monster assaults my senses. Its muscled frame and titan height undo me. I fall to my knees.

'I can't beat that thing', I whisper. I'm not strong enough. The girl, the other me lifts herself from the rubble. She walks over to where I'm knelt, placing herself between me and my assassin. Kneeling down to look me in the eye, she places her right hand on my head and ruffles my hair.

'I'm not saying you have to win, just that you have to fight.'

'I can't,' I reply, tears streaming from my eyes. 'How can I fight that thing?'

'The same way you always have, with a smile on your face,' She says.

'Amy, when you smile, you show the fear inside of you that you won't be intimidated.' The words come from my father, rematerialized next to my older self.

'Sweetheart, there's nothing in this world you can't do, never let anyone, not clansmen, not friends or foes, not me or your dad, not even your own heart tell you otherwise.' My mum stands next to the other me.

'We're going to change the world. You and me. we'll show those highborn bastards that anyone, even a nameless nobody can shake the foundations and create a new world.' Nero stands to my side. Tarik materialises next to him.

'You told us you were strong, so prove it. Wake up and fight. We're waiting for you.' My friends and my family vanish like smoke Leaving me alone with my other-self.

'You're not good enough? You're not strong enough? Who taught you that? I can tell you this, it wasn't anyone who matters.' The girl stands to her feet. She reaches out her arm. I take it. She pulls me up. 'Wake up, Amy. Wake up and fight.' With my sleeve, I dry my eyes. The girl smiles at me. 'That's right, no more tears. There's no time for that anymore.' The other me begins to fade. Her solid form becoming translucent.

'Before you go, tell me this. Can I win?' The girl's smile dims, her eyes reflect my sorrow.

'Probably not, but we could... If this is to be our swan song, we'll make it resonate throughout the heavens.' The girl vanishes. The world vanishes.

Darkness.

Light creeps into my vision.

I open my eyes.