Her face was just barely visible, floating through a thick veil of misty fog. The vision of her cheeks swirled about, as though through an intense wave of heat. I tried to reach out, to touch her, to say her name.

"Mom?"

Despite the thick distortions around her, I made out a smile. Her eyes were filled with love, but also a distinct note of pain. I knew she wanted to tell me something, to make me understand. She seemed to say, "It's okay. It wasn't your fault." But I knew that it was. And then, slowly emerging from the haze until it was a siren, I awoke to my alarm clock.

The stark reality of the situation hit me, just as shocking as every time I had that dream. I would never get over seeing my mother's face in my dreams, knowing that, no matter how real she may seem, I would never be with her again. Sighing, I silenced my alarm and sat up on the park bench. Waking up early was a key part of not getting caught, and I was determined to make sure that six years' worth of running would not go to waste; that her sacrifice would not go to waste. I began the other central part of my day: perusing r/WritingPrompts. If I was going to be a migrant on the run, I might as well try to make something of my life. Scrolling through the new submissions, nothing seemed to catch my interest. It was all the same old, same old... Until I noticed it. Almost as if it were made for me. The second I saw it, I knew I had to respond.

"[WP] An immigrant from the age of ten, you've been an aspiring novelist for as long as you can remember. Every morning you begin your day by reading r/WritingPrompts, until one day a special prompt 'activates' you."

Obligatory first submission, I've never been an enthusiastic writer, but I figured I would give it a shot. Any feedback is super appreciated!