Unrealized Reality

by Lara Means

TITLE: Unrealized Reality
AUTHOR: Lara Means
E-MAIL: larameansxf@earthlink.net
WEBSITE: http://larameansxf.tripod.com CLASSIFICATION: V, A
CHALLENGE: "Farscape" episode titles
ARCHIVE: NO to Gossamer, Spookys; I'll submit directly to both. YES to Ephemeral. YES to mailing list auto-archives. Anywhere else, please ASK. I'll say yes; I just like to know where the kids are at the end of the day.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own them. Heck, I don't even own my name. It all belongs to 20th Century Fox. No infringement intended.

SPOILERS: William.

SUMMARY: His father had already decided their son would be the 2025 World Series MVP.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Written for the "Farscape" episode titles challenge on the xf_drabble LJ community.

Unrealized Reality
By Lara Means

When he was not quite a year old, his father came home. It seemed to her that the baby remembered him, because he laughed and reached out to him. They both hugged him tight and cried as their baby grabbed at his father's nose.

When he was about eighteen months old, his mother finally gave in and his parents got married. He watched the ceremony, fascinated, held tight in his grandma's arms. And it seemed to her that their son's hands were the ones that started the clapping when they kissed.

When he was five and a half, his parents surprised him with a new baby sister. He stared into her blue, blue eyes, then reached out a finger for her to grasp. As the tiny girl held on tight, it seemed to her that their children had a moment between them, an instant of pure communication, and she hoped the boy was telling the new arrival that this was a good family to be a part of.

When he had just turned ten, he practically begged his parents to let him try out for Little League. His father thought it was a great idea, but it seemed to her he was more suited to basketball. Tall and thin, but graceful, like his father. No matter. Her husband had already decided their boy would be the 2025 World Series MVP.

When he was just sixteen, his father presented him with the keys to their old Ford. It seemed to her that a new car would be safer, but their son argued --


And with that, the sound of Monica's voice, she came back to herself. To this room, his room.

"Dana, they're gone." She nodded, didn't turn around, didn't want Monica to see the tears. "John and I, we'll stay as long as you need us."

She just nodded again. She knew that if she spoke, Monica would come closer, try to comfort her.

She didn't want to be comforted.

She didn't want to be comforted, because the realization crashed into her like a tidal wave.

There would be no reunion. No wedding. No baby sister, no Little League, no old Ford to give him. Not for her son.

He wasn't her son anymore.


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