In the dream, the attic had no roof.
Just sky.
Endless blue stretching above me, soft clouds drifting like birds.
The walls were painted yellow — my favorite crayon.
The mattress was gone.
Replaced by a swing.
And laughter.
I heard my own voice.
Not shaking.Not afraid.Just… laughing.
Real, loud, echoing.
A sound I didn't recognize as mine.
I looked down and saw my hands — smaller, softer, not scarred.
They held a paper airplane.
One that actually flew.
I ran across the wooden floor barefoot.
Mama stood by the window.
But not her.
A different Mama.
Younger. Smiling.
Hair in a messy bun.
Her apron stained with flour.
She waved at me.
"Time for pancakes, Lucas."
Not in warning.
Not with fear.
Just… warmth.
I ran into the kitchen.
It smelled like vanilla and butter.
There were drawings on the fridge — mine.
All of them full of color.
Birds. Trees. A house with a heart over the roof.
Someone knocked at the door.
A boy.
Same age as me.
"Wanna ride bikes?" he asked.
I nodded.
Mama handed me a helmet.
Kissed my forehead.
No chains.No lock on the hatch.No silence.No cage.
Just a normal life.
Just Lucas, the boy who was loved and free.
But then…
The sky dimmed.
Slowly.
The swing stopped moving.
My paper airplane hit the ground and didn't fly again.
The fridge drawings bled down into puddles.
Mama turned away.
The floor cracked.
The ceiling vanished.
And I was standing in a gray hallway.
The one with the mirror.
Except now, there were two of me.
One smiling.
The other covered in dust, barefoot, eyes hollow.
The smiling one said:
"You can stay here forever."
The broken one said:
"But if you do… he'll die."
I didn't understand.
I tried to speak.
But my mouth was sewn shut.
Tears streamed down both versions of my face.
Then everything shattered.
I woke up screaming.
My mother — the real one — ran into the room.
She held me.
Tried to calm me down.
But the dream clung to me like wet skin.
Later that day, the therapist asked me what I dreamed about.
I said, "A boy named Lucas."
She asked, "Who is he?"
I whispered:
"Someone I want to be again."