"What about?"
I try to remember, but the details slip away like water through fingers. "I don't know. Something scary."
She sets a plate in front of me, pancakes piled high, chocolate chips melting into gooey puddles. She pours syrup in a spiral pattern, the way I like it, and sits down across from me.
"Dreams can't hurt you," she says. "They're just your brain sorting through all the stuff that happens during the day. Like cleaning out a closet."
"But what if the closet has monsters in it?"
She laughs, soft and warm. "Then you turn on the light. Monsters hate the light."
I take a bite of pancake. S and warm and perfect.
"Mom?"
"Yeah, baby?"
"Are you going to die?"
The question comes out of nowhere. I don't know why I asked it. But suddenly it feels like the most important thing in the world, like the answer will determine everything that comes after.
Her smile falters. Just for a second. Then it's back, steady and sure.
"Everyone dies eventually," she says. "But not for a long, long time. I'm going to be here to see you grow up, go to college, get married, have babies of your own. I'm going to be the most annoying grandma in the world. I'll spoil your kids rotten and send them home on sugar highs."
I laugh, but something in my chest feels heavy.
"Promise?"
She reaches across the table and takes my hand. Her fingers are warm, slightly sticky with syrup.
"I promise," she says.
The kitchen starts to fade. The sunlight dims. My mother's face blurs, dissolving into shadow.
"Mom? Mom!"
But she's gone. The warmth is gone. The smell of cinnamon and butter is gone.
I'm alone in the dark.
The auction house. My first one.
I'm standing on a platform under lights so bright they burn. There are people in the shadows, faces I can't see, voices I can't distinguish. Numbers being called out, climbing higher and higher.
I'm not wearing anything. My body is exposed, touched, assessed. A hand grabs my chin, forces my face up. Another hand runs down my spine, checking for defects.
"Pretty. Smooth," someone says. "Fresh. He'll do."
The numbers keep climbing. I try to remember how I got here, but the memories won't come. There's a gap in my mind, a blank space where time should be.
The gavel falls.
"Sold."
Hands grab me, drag me off the platform. I'm pushed through a door into a hallway that stretches forever, lined with doors that all look the same.
One of them opens.
