[ WP ] A group of people worship a small , plain , clear glass marble . You touch it , and realise why .

There she is.... Just like I always remembered her... Right here in front of me. 
 
 My words choke in my throat, I can feel the burning of tears on my eyes but I fight it back to ask one question `` Is it you?'' 
 
 `` Of course it's me.'' She replies in the same voice, that same loving tone that made me feel like everything would be alright. 
 
 Tears start to flow a little more freely now, my breathing shakes as I try to keep my composure. Opening my mouth I do n't find my voice but on a second attempt I find it `` H-how do I know it's you?'' 
 
 She pauses a moment and looks up, her mouth scrunching up in thought as I find my lips wanting to mimic her's but then the light bulb goes off. Reaching out she takes my hand, it's soft and warm, I do n't ever want to let go, and she says `` The last time I saw you I held your hand just like this.'' She gives it a light squeeze, I know she could never hurt me and I squeeze her hand back `` I was very sick at the time but I remember... You were so young, so scared, you did n't know what was going on.'' 
 
 Tears in her eyes now, it makes me want to break down and sob. To throw myself into her warm embrace and tell everything I've wanted to say to her, all my regrets, my hopes, my fears, I wanted to tell her everything but before I could she simply smiled and said `` I know, and it's okay.'' She laughs despite her tears and shakes her head `` Now come here and give your mother a hug.'' 
 
 I raise my arms to embrace her, to feel the warmth of my mother's body once more, to have her arms hold me close, to feel that love one last time. 
 
 But as soon as I raise my arms she fades from existence and once again I'm alone in the room with the clear marble set atop its pedestal. I look around confused then realize the mistake I had made and reach over to place my hand on top of the marble. 
 
 There she is again, my mother, standing there looking just like she did when I was 8 years old, before the cancer, and the hospital visits, before the funeral. She smiles at me, opens her arms once more, and steps forward to let me arm an arm around her. She's real. I can feel her body against my own. I can feel her heart beating, feel the rise and fall of her chest, the warmth of her embrace and the wetness of her tears on my shirt. 
 
 I know all of this is possible because of the marble. Because I know this I will forever worship this small, unassuming object that has the power to reunite the living with the dead.
