― ❝ in which wicked wipes kids memories and puts them on trial to find a cure for a deadly disease. only some of them make it out alive. the others who do are hit with the cruel reality of what the world is now like when they are on their journey to...
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In this dream, she isn't that old. Maybe eight years old. But the dream didn't seem like a typical dream. Everything seemed familiar to her. As if it happened before. Perhaps it was a memory.
Some of it was almost blurry, as if there were some fragments of it that she couldn't remember what it was or maybe she didn't want to remember.
Her hand was smaller than the one that was grasping hers. Lizzie couldn't do anything but watch, and she was quick to realize the child was her.
She, well, her eight-year-old self, turned her head to look at the woman standing next to her. The woman looked similar to her younger self, she was staring down at her with her kind eyes, and it was evident that she was crying.
She then realized that this woman must be her mother, which made tears form in her eyes because she didn't remember what her mother was like. She didn't remember anything about her life before being in the Glade.
Lizzie knows that her younger self notices but don't say anything about it, not wanting to make the woman more upset than she was.
The woman tries her best to hide it, but it's not working out that well for her. They're walking in a direction somewhere she didn't know where, but still followed her mom despite how worried and confused she was.
Lizzie watches her younger self frown and stays silent. Then, her younger self and an older woman walk into a crowd where she moves closer to her older woman she assumed was her mother, grasping onto her hand tighter since she didn't want to get lost in the crowd.
As Lizzie looks around the crowd, she notices there are adults and some children her younger self's age and some that are not, clutching onto their parent's hands just like her younger self was.
Her younger self was suddenly pulled to a stop, and her mother kneeled beside her. She was sniffling, not wanting to cry in front of her daughter, but she couldn't help it. It was apparent this was a tough moment for her.
Lizzie, her younger self, stares at her with a frown, still clutching onto her mother's hand. Her mother places a gentle kiss on her forehead before leaning back and wiping some of the tears away.
"Mom, what's wrong?" Her younger self finally asks, and for a moment, her voice startles Lizzie. It's so scary because it sounds exactly like her.
Lizzie doesn't remember her younger self, yet she is eight years old, with her mother. She almost let out a sob as she watched. She didn't realize how much she missed her mother until this moment. "Why are there a lot of people here? Why are we here?"
"Lizzie, this is goodbye." Her mother tells her, and finally, fear forms on her younger self's face. "You have to go where I'm can't go with you."
Eight-year-old Lizzie's eyebrows furrow together as she stares at her mother, who took Lizzie's tiny hands in hers. "Why? Why can't you go with me? Where am I going?"
