It's interesting to note how full of confusion one's life typically is. Rarely, if ever, can we truly be certain of anything. Yet we blunder on anyhow, making the best decisions we can with the limited information available to us. Those who make one choice, we label heroes. Those who make the other, villains.
"Loral?" a voice said softly. I jerked my head up out of the book to see my mother standing at the doorway. I hadn't heard her come in, though whether that was due to my preoccupation with reading, or because the snores coming from the beds around me drowned out all other sound, I wasn't sure. Three brothers. One room.
I was something of an insomniac.
The candle my mother carried flickered in rhythm with the one by my bed, casting shadows over the room. "Put the book away, dear," my mother said. "You need to sleep."
Sighing, I marked my place in the book and set it to the side. It wasn't that interesting anyway. For a book that was supposed to be about one of the greatest figures in history, it sure sounded a lot like philosophy.
My mother waited until I blew out the candle before she wished me good night and left. Miraculously, I managed to fall asleep.