When I was a child, my grandmother would tell me of another world—a world that steals away time. She'd speak in whispers—while candles flicker in the night—about a world of magic so different from ours. "Have you ever noticed the days when mornings would turn quickly into late afternoons seemingly in the blink of an eye? Or a much longed...
When I was a child, my grandmother would tell me of another world—a world that steals away time. She'd speak in whispers—while candles flicker in the night—about a world of magic so different from ours.
"Have you ever noticed the days when mornings would turn quickly into late afternoons seemingly in the blink of an eye? Or a much longed for summer vacation ending suddenly when you're so sure it had just begun?"
I nod, pretending to understand, and she would smile—knowing the truth.
"That's when you disappear into this world of magic,” she continues, “spend some unknown time and then you come back here without any memory of it."
“No memory at all?” I asked.
“None,” she replied, with a faraway look. “Not until you come back and do it all over again.”
She shakes her head, as if getting rid of cobwebs, and finally she turns her focus back on me.
“All that time adds up—to become a missing month.”
Missing Month is a game of memory—a game where you remember the forgotten things.
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