Green Lantern's Protégée

31: "I'm not hungry. My stomach is full of deceit."

Cyra was screaming as she fell down the rabbit hole.

A tunnel had opened up beneath her, sending her bouncing and spinning down a dark cavern. The dirt flew around her and the walls flashed with colors as if dancing to vivid torches. Once Cyra's screams had died down, Cyra could hear subtle old 80s rock muffled by the walls.

"You have found yourself on the ride of a lifetime!" the short man's voice boomed behind her as if being projected from a microphone, his voice causing the walls to thump to a heartbeat that wasn't her own. "I'm going to show you exactly what you are missing in your poor, pathetic life!"

"You're pathetic!" but Cyra doubted the goblin could hear her all the music and echoes.

"Our first stop!"

The tunnel began to shake, flashing strobe lights that made Cyra clench her eyes tightly, but it didn't help the strong whites shining through her eyelids and as fast as it had come, it was gone.

When Cyra peeled open her eyes, she was no longer in the rabbit hole.

Instead, she sat in her living room. She looked around, bamboozled, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it until it hit her—the house was dead quiet. The usual screams, cries, and maniacal laughter didn't rattle the air, but the house seemed oddly at peace—unnaturally so.

The reality warper's voice followed her and despite how many corners Cyra checked behind or cabinets she opened, she couldn't see him anywhere, but thinking about it, he could be invisible. Or a fly on the wall, but at the moment, Cyra was in a daze of shock so it didn't matter.

The motherly Kailey Brion sat at a long glass table, much bigger than the round wooden one that could barely seat four people, and she looked absolutely radiant.

Instead of the usual frizzy bundle, her hair was in a lovely braid wrapping around a bun on her head and she was wearing jeans and a flowing white top that made her blue eyes pop.

"Mom?" Cyra questioned, unnerved.

"Oh, hey, Cyra," her mom grinned brightly. "You're home early, I made you lunch."

She gestured to the glass table, once empty, now filled with towers of overflowing fondue spirals and burgers of all different shapes and sizes stacked upon one another, followed by glasses of Root Beer or lemonade and everything in between. In the back of her mind, Cyra knew that this couldn't be real—just another illusion, but the sweet smells invading her nose was certainly real—as was the grumbling in her gut.

"What are you waiting for? Sit down," Kailey ordered and practically shoved Cyra down into a nice fancy chair, a plate stacked with ribs and potatoes sliding in front of her.

The odd thing was, unlike in all the movies where the family is replaced by robots that you know is too perfect to be true, Kailey Brion was acting just as Cyra knew her mom to act. She was forceful, funny, but without all the stress and exhaustion.

"Are you real?" Cyra's eyes were wide with wonder.

Her mom laughed. "Yeah, I'm real. I've been real since the day I was born—the day you were born—which I would think is a very important date for you to remember. Is there a problem?" Her mother crossed her arms and squared her shoulders—a challenge.

Yep, just how Cyra remembered.

"Of course not!" Cyra said quickly. "I remember my birthday! I can remember a simple date. It's like Christmas or Halloween."

"You hate Christmas," Kailey's lips twisted downwards in a confused like frowned that she shared with her daughter.

"I know I hate Christmas."