“You remind me of a boy I used to know,” the small voice seemingly came from shadow.

 

“My mom said there’s no one like me in the whole world,” Yoongi answered, turning to find the owner of the voice.

 

“My mom says your mom is a vicious .  She says if she was a dog they wouldn’t breed her.”

 

Yoongi’s eyes narrowed and he glared into the darkness, “Come out here so I can see you.”

 

“I’m not stupid, you’ll tell your mom, she’ll have my mom fired. She said the baker got fired because there were only four petals on her Dewdrop cookies.”

 

“Dewdrops have five petals, it was negligence.”

 

“Ah… you had a part in it, didn’t you?  Maybe you are a monster like they say. My mom says I shouldn’t ever let either of you see me.”

 

“She kept putting salt in the cookies instead of sugar, just to spite me, so I found a way to get rid of her,” Yoongi toed cautiously at the edge of the blanket he was sitting on, “If your mom told you not to let me see you why are you here?”

 

“Because, you look like a boy I used to know.”

 

“I do not.”

 

“Not exactly of course, you look sad like he did though. He was sick like you, but he got better.”

 

“I’ll always be sick. Mom says it’s a matter of ‘managing my symptoms,’ the doctor’s just shake their heads.”

 

“My mom says you’re on enough drugs to knock out a horse.  She didn’t believe me that you come out here. She didn’t think you could walk.”

 

“Your mom talks a lot, does she ever do her job?”

 

“My point is that you might get better.”

 

“What happened to that boy?”

 

“He died.  But that was after he got better.”

 

“I feel better already. Maybe I’ll die too and I won’t have to suffer listening to you any more.”

 

“My mom says they pay people to come talk to you, but they won’t stay.”

 

“I’m an excellent conversationalist.”

 

“I see why they leave now.”

 

“Good. Go away, you’re ruining my spot.”

 

“It’s not your spot.”

 

“It’s my mom’s spot.  This whole valley is my mom’s spot, so if you don’t want to be kicked out of it shut up.”

 

“She’s killing you.”

 

A cold chill ran down Yoongi’s back.  He’d never voiced his fear to anyone. That maybe his mother was making him sick.  That he had always been terrified of her, but in secret, only in secret. Maybe the boy that the voice knew was the child before him.  Maybe he was only one of many boys.

 

-

 

“Momma, did you ever have any other children?”

 

“No, my Sweetling, only you.  You were so special I wanted you to have all of my attention.” The shape of his mother shifted and he wondered as he had many times before if she was just putting on a mask when she got close to him.

 

“Momma… what would happen if I didn’t take my medicine…?  Just once?”

 

The woman turned to him with a smile that looked like it might crack her whole face in half, “Why would you even ask, Darling?  I don’t want to even think of it.”

 

“I’m sorry, Momma…”

 

“Who put such an idea in your head?”

 

“No one, Momma, I was just wondering…”

 

“Well don’t, it hurts me,” her voice sounded crisp though he couldn’t see her face any longer, “You don’t want to hurt me do you?”

 

“No Momma, of course not.”

 

-

 

“My poor Sweetling, imagine what would have happened if you hadn’t taken your medicine…? How much worse this would be?”

 

Yoongi did imagine it.  He imagined he might get up and walk away from his mother’s shape like nothing was wrong. Or perhaps she was really his mother and she was simply concerned and he died. Then maybe he would fly away.  Maybe she would cry for her poor Sweetling. Or perhaps she would simply throw him away and bring out the next boy. Imagining was hard when he was sick with fever and throwing up even water.

 

-

 

“You’re back,” the voice spoke, more quietly this time.

 

“And so are you.”

 

“You still remind me of that boy.”

 

Yoongi was quiet, contemplative, “Was he a Sweetling?”

 

“What’s a Sweetling?”

 

“It’s what my mom calls me…”

 

“Oh. You think there’s been others?”

 

“I’m not sure.”

 

“I think you’re the only one. You bear a striking resemblance to your father.”

 

“Do I?”

 

“You’ve never seen him?”

 

“He’s dead, how could I have?”

 

“His picture is up everywhere.”

 

“It is?”

 

“You must pass at least three paintings on your way here.”

 

“I didn’t know.”

 

“Can’t you see?”

 

“Not well.”

 

“So I don’t even have to hide?”

 

“My mother could line you all up and I would ask you to speak.  I don’t need to see you to know you.”

 

“That’s a fair point, I suppose I’ll make sure not to piss you off.”

 

“You don’t sound nervous.”

 

“I’m not.”

 

“But I’m a monster.”

 

“I think she’s the monster. I believe you.”

 

Yoongi didn’t point out the fact that he had never told the other boy he agreed.

 

-

 

“I heard you went outside again today.”

 

He turned to watch his mother’s shape glide into the room and looked back out the window, “I wanted to smell the flowers, Momma.”

 

“And I want my Sweetling to be healthy, I want to see you running through those fields, I’ve made them so pretty for you, Darling.  How will you see them if you never rest after you’ve had an episode?”

 

“I’m afraid I’ll never see them if I rest either.”

 

“I will paint them for you, my Sweetling, nice and big so you can see them.”

 

“Thank you, Momma…”

 

“The gardener… said you were talking to someone out there, who was it?”

 

“I don’t know his name.”

 

“If you enjoy talking with him we can bring him in for your social hour, you would like that Sweetling, wouldn’t you?”

 

Yoongi knew that tone, that tone always meant he was about to have an episode, “Y-yes Momma.”

 

-

 

The boy did not come the following day, but he had spent the whole morning with shakes so bad that he couldn’t eat without choking, so he thought his social hour might have been canceled for the day.

 

The next day he didn’t show up either.

 

The third day he tried to go out to the gardens but halfway there he was intercepted by a hysterical woman who snatched him up by the shoulders, shaking him.

 

“Why! What did you do to him! Why, why! I know he talked with you, you vicious little beast, why did you do it! My baby, my baby!”

 

He heard the wet thunk of a blade and felt the splatter of warmth over his face and then the woman’s head fell into his hands.

 

Even detached from her body he felt deeply that this was what a mother looked like.  This woman had been a real mother. This woman had been the mother of the boy that had talked to him but now she was nothing. Likely the boy was nothing as well.

 

He was also nothing and he felt himself melt into the floor to join them below the dirt.

 

-

 

He woke in the bath, his skin stinging raw, “Momma…?”

 

The grey he had thought was wall shifted towards him and then his mother’s face was close enough to see.  Closer than it had been for years. He didn’t recognize her.

 

“Sweetling, I’m so glad you’ve woken up. That crazed woman tried to hurt you… I’m so sorry you had to see that.  The guards were protecting you, you understand.”

 

“Don’t worry, Momma, I didn’t really see much of anything.”

 

“Little blessings, Sweetling.”