Earth. Peter’s home, hours after the supposed funeral…
Friends and family came and went the duration of the day, checking in on the living, breathing corpse. Peter lay in bed, stoic and practically motionless. Person after person that looked in on him and spoke to him and patted his hand, poking and prodding, was unrecognizable to him. Mother would bring in family photos, books of them, and he didn’t even recognize himself.
Mother would plead, “Petey, you must know me! Don’t you know how you’re breaking my old heavy set heart, son?!”

Peter would look away with anyone in the room, staring out the window, to the vacant beyond. He knew this Mother character was different; that she loved him like no other. He looked up at her then down as he spoke. “Please don’t be hurt. I don’t even know myself, let alone anyone else here on this earth.”

“Well, where did you go? What was there?” Mother’s tears streamed down her plump face again.

Peter looked toward the window then said, “I can’t explain it, let alone tell you where. It was cold, dark. I wasn’t me, I had no body.” He stopped and closed his eyes. “I feel like there was something there for me, Mother. I don’t know what and I guess I never will, but I felt a calling.”

Mother stood up, fed up with her hands on her big hips. “Your calling is to be friggin alive, Peter! Your calling is to be here with us, it’s your destiny and I won’t have you talk about anything other than that. I won’t let you leave me.” She stormed out of the room, pulling the door tight.

He wanted to leave but where would he go? These people made him sick. They weren’t family. They were all unknown strangers, and he did not belong amongst them. This woman called Mother didn’t deserve to have kids. If anyone should be dead, it’s her!

He felt no pain, though the numbness in his limbs reminded him of his limited movement. Skin pale and cold to the touch. There could only be one plan: he would suffer through all these visitors, pleading to him how much they cared for him and then use all his strength to make his way out of the house. Destination currently unknown.

Aunts and Uncles. Dogs and nieces. A local news reporter. Pretty much everyone in that little town and littler neighborhood had come through that day. And still more!

The family of a girl who had known Peter quite well dropped by. Mother introduced them as Savannah’s family. Her little sisters fawned on him, all flirty though barely ten.

Their mother apologized and said, “You’ve been revered in our home as a special boy.” The dad rolled his eyes then grinned big. The mom continued. “Peter, I know you aren’t remembering anything really, but… do you recall our little Savannah?”

Peter shook his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t even remember my own reflection.”

She sat on the bed next to him and patted his knee. “I don’t blame you, honey. God knows what you’ve been through. My name is Miranda, by the way.”

One of the sisters took Peter by the hand and asked, “My big sister died on the night we were born. Me and my twin… Olivia. I’m Ophelia. Born eleven minutes later.”

Miranda laughed and wiped away a tear. “She was taken from us all way too soon. Peter, you and Savannah were kindred spirits. You were inseparable for years. Almost every waking moment, you two were together.”

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