mikky

Sleep did not come to Ifeoma the way it used to.
It did not arrive softly or wrap her in rest. It came like something that had been waiting at the edge of her consciousness, watching patiently for the moment her body would give in. That night, when she finally closed her eyes, it felt less like she was falling asleep and more like she was stepping into a place she had never been before.
She found herself standing barefoot on damp earth, the air around her thick and unfamiliar. In front of her stretched a river, wide and restless, yet something about it was terribly wrong. The water was moving, but not in the direction it should. It flowed backwards, against its own nature, as though time itself had been reversed.
Ifeoma stood still, trying to understand what she was seeing, but her body betrayed her. Her feet began to move slowly toward the river, drawn by a force she could not resist. The closer she got, the colder the air became, until her skin prickled and her breath grew unsteady.
Then she saw it.
At first, it looked like a bundle of white cloth floating on the surface of the water. It rose and fell gently with the strange backward current. Something in her chest tightened. She did not want to go closer, yet she could not stop herself.
As she approached the edge, the cloth began to loosen, as though unseen fingers were carefully unwrapping it. Time seemed to slow, stretching each second into something heavy and unbearable. When the last fold fell away, she saw a child lying within it.
A boy.
His eyes were open.
He was not crying, not struggling, not afraid. He simply stared at her with a calmness that did not belong to a newborn. There was something ancient in his gaze, something that made her heart pound against her ribs.
Before she could speak or move, the river began to change. The clear water darkened slowly, deepening into a thick red that spread like a stain. It was not mud. It was blood.
The current carried it gently around the child, yet it did not harm him. Instead, it seemed to cradle him, as though the river itself had chosen to protect him. The sight filled Ifeoma with a fear she had never known, the kind that settles deep in the soul and refuses to leave.
She tried to call out, but no sound came from her mouth.
Then she heard a voice.
It did not come from any direction she could see. It rose from the river, from the air, from somewhere within and beyond her all at once. It was neither the voice of a man nor a woman, but something older, something that carried the weight of time.
The voice spoke slowly, deliberately, as though each word mattered.
It told her that the child she was looking at walked between worlds, that he had been sent but would not be welcomed, that he carried light yet would be seen as darkness. Each word settled heavily on her chest, making it harder for her to breathe.
The child’s lips moved then, but the voice that followed was not his alone. It sounded layered, as if many voices spoke through him at once. When he called her “mother,” her knees gave way beneath her, and she sank to the ground, trembling.
She wanted to understand. She needed to understand.
When she asked who he was, the river responded before the voice did. It surged violently, the blood rising higher until it touched her feet. The sensation was cold, yet it burned against her skin in a way that made her flinch.
The answer she received did not comfort her. It only deepened her fear.
The child lifted his hand toward her, as though asking her to come closer, but something behind him caught her attention. A shadow stood at a distance, tall and distorted, neither fully formed nor entirely formless. It did not move, yet she felt its awareness. It was watching, not just the child, but her as well.
She could not tell whether it belonged to him or had come for him.
Before she could look away, she felt a presence behind her, close enough that her body stiffened. The voice returned, quieter this time, almost like a whisper against her ear. It told her to call the child by his name, insisting that the heavens had already given it to him.
Ifeoma’s lips trembled. She did not know the name, yet it rose within her as though it had always been there, waiting.
When she finally spoke it, her voice barely above a whisper, everything changed.
The river erupted violently, sending waves crashing against the unseen banks. A scream filled the air, sharp and filled with anger, but it did not come from her or the child. It came from something else, something that reacted to the name as though it had been challenged.
The sound shook the world around her.
Then everything disappeared.
Ifeoma woke with a gasp, her body drenched in sweat. Her hands moved instantly to her stomach, gripping it tightly as though she needed to confirm that she was still there, that the child was still there.
The movement she felt this time was different.
It was no longer gentle or uncertain. It came with a force that made her freeze, a steady, rhythmic pu

About yesterday…
Children may forget your instructions…
But they remember your behavior.
That means: How you react = what they learn.
Deep, right?
👉 What’s one habit you’re trying to improve as a parent?