He had been sitting on the dirty Earth, yet he doesn't seem to mind at all seeing that he didn't move or anything. Residing in his hands had been a single red rose. Resting on his left hand is a power watch and circling around his head had been a headband, one he wore for years and never once took it off. It was a gift from the one whose ashes were scattered on a spot in front of him, how could he ever take it off?

He walked forth and placed the red rose on the Earth. He had been mumbling but the mumbling had been intangible. His lock on his elbow dropped as his mumbles turned to sobs.

He held on the red rose again, clutching on it as if his life had been depending on it. He mumbled again and again and again. His mumbles grew louder as he repeated what he had spoken again and again and again. Finally, he turned the speaking into a full-blown shout.

"Turn rose to resemble Mama!" He had shout through his tears, his voice raspy as he kept shouting the same thing over and over again, clutching on the red rose so tight his fingers turned white.

Nothing had happened. Nothing had changed. The red rose remained a red rose, his shouts had been reduced to speaks and his speaks had been reduced to mumbles, his voice grew more hoarse as time went by. The boy shook his own head as he stopped, dropping the red rose on the ground.

A bright golden light had covered the red rose indefinitely as the boy squinted his eyes. What's going on? The light soon died off as the boy's nose bled, but the boy didn't pay much attention. He realised that the red rose that's laid down on the Earth had changed resembling of a ball, though still basically red. The boy was confused.

Where did the red rose go? Where did the red ball come from? The boy went closer to inspect the red ball and dropped it as soon as he did. The red ball dropped down the Earth, bouncing a bit. He soon widened his eyes as he ran forward to hold the red ball again.

He paled as he held on the red ball for the second time in his life. His hands shook as he kept staring at the red ball in bewilderment before his wide eyes had changed with an understanding glint decorating them. The red ball holds a pair of doe eyes, wide nose, plump lips, textures resembling wavy hair, and a bindi mark on the centre of her 'forehead'. He knew whose head is this, the very head that filled both his dreams and his nightmares for days past.

His mother's 'head'.

He tightened his grip on the red head as he turned his heels towards the street, walking away. He didn't know when, he didn't know how, he didn't know what it will cost him, but he knew one thing.

He's going to have a mother again.