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Avocado dreams, soft and mellow. Avocado schemes, tough skin on the outside and a hard seed at the core. The outer layer, to protect the softness in the middle from external influences, the solid centre, for an enduring heart to maintain integrity. The pale green colour in the middle for positivity and awareness, with hints of renewal and promise. The smoothness for a balanced equilibrium between the layers of hardness.


Jade was an avocado person, with olive green eyes. Her magnetic gaze fooled many, who believed her to be a soft person. Little did they know of the firmness inside her, where she kept her pain wrapped under layers. The folds of protection enabled her to isolate the sorrows in separate compartments, to sustain the stamina of her receptive side.


Her mother’s dove-like eyes watched and followed her. Jade knew there was still some light inside her although, confined to bed, the only movements she was capable of making was through her gaze and turning her head. Imprisoned within her body, what remained of her senses of sight and hearing seemed to be the only portals that connected her to life. She responded to sounds, even the distant doorbell ringing, perhaps looking forward to a new visitor.


So, Jade played music for her, the songs she liked. She opened and closed her eyes, most likely dreaming of days when she had full control. Jade wondered what it must be like to be handled by others, though gentle and kind? She was unable to make a sound even if Jade or the nurse unintentionally hurt her, while caring for her.


Jade’s gaze drifted to the black and white photograph of her mother on the wall. A studio picture taken when she was one and a half years old. Standing against a wall, in a frilly white dress, with a small basket of flowers embroidered on the chest. Black patent shoes and white socks. The picture of innocence made Jade’s eyes well.


Underneath that, a photo of Jade, taken when she was ten months old. In a floral frock, white boots and socks, she sat, gazing at the camera with curiosity. Of what, Jade pondered. The mysteries of life, the unknown adventures of joy and sorrow yet to be lived.


If only we knew, but if we did, we wouldn’t be able to survive. Does my future lie in front of me, in the story of my mother?


She wished for an instant death, like her father’s. One moment here, the next moment there. Maybe my future will be like his, not like hers. Maybe the angels will have compassion for me.


The other pains concealed in their respective compartments, she glanced at the mirror and scrutinized her eyes. Shadowed with life, no longer as vibrant as that baby girl’s, but still some sparkle remained inside the olive core.


She returned to her avocado dreams and carried on writing the story, spiced with the remains of the past and seasoned with the uncertainties of the future, composing a fresh remedy for enduring life.