Holding My Breath [Wattys 2016]

6 2 ~ A n n a

                 

Flashback ~ December 30, 2010

I break through the grasp of darkness like a shattered window. There are pieces of me on the floor, in shards like my thoughts, and I can't help but feel like I shouldn't still be here.

There is a burning in my chest, and I'm coughing. I'm trying to get that sting out of my throat, trying to catch a breath, but the icy ground around me only makes me freeze in place.

The first thing I remember is the dream catcher. It's falling from the mirror and out of sight, it's veil of protection dropping slowly with the rest of us. Then I remember my brother, struggling in my arms. I remember the spots of black plaguing my vision of the light beaming through the water.

And finally, the dark shape coming toward me, the feeling of fingers curling around my arms, pulling me towards the light.

But now everything is dark. Everything is undercover, the night just an excuse for everything to seem asleep. There are no cars to hear. There is no music playing. Nobody is awake.

Except me.

Everything is gone.

At first, I don't think I'm alive. I drowned. I watched my brother go limp in my arms. I felt his small form drift into the water. Farther and farther away from me as I lost consciousness too. If he is dead, I shouldn't be alive either.

But now I shoot up into a sitting position as soon as I realize I'm breathing, that I'm no longer submerged in the water. I suck in gulps of clean air, squeezing my eyes shut and trying to sort out what happened.

I bring a hand to my chest and feel myself wheezing as I try to keep up with my racing heart. It hurts just to sit up, to try to hold back my cries.

Caesar killed me. He killed my family. They are gone, sinking like anchors at the bottom of the lake. But someone pulled me out. That must be what happened, or else I wouldn't be breathing.

I shouldn't be breathing.

Out of all of us, of my family, why me? Why do I get to survive? Better yet, why would I even want to, when everything, everyone, I love is dead?

My fingers brush across the cool blades of grass surrounding me. The thought registers in the back of my head that I'm allergic to grass and it actually makes me laugh out loud. It just seems so ridiculous that the weight on my shoulders, the knife that was stabbed into my heart, was put aside for even a second to think about that.

I blink a few times, looking around.

At first, I don't see it. I don't even realize I'm being watched, or who is watching me.

I turn to try and stand up, but the lack of oxygen has left me coughing and exhausted. I stay sitting, glancing warily at the lake. The moon reflects in the water, a little spotlight giving the man on the moon a double face. I feel like he's laughing at me from somewhere right now, and at the same time he is watching, waiting.

My fingers come across something that feels out of place. I look down to see a match box, the one edge rough enough to strike it on. I slowly bring it up to the moonlight, noticing the little white paper sticking out of it.

I gulp.

Then I notice the camera. It's on a tripod. The little light on the side is flashing, and the lens is pointed at me. I stare into the lens for a few seconds, knowing that whoever it is that is watching me right now, whoever is on the other side of that video feed, will see the look in my eyes of pure terror.

And they will see me looking right at them.

My instinct is to cover it up, but I know it has something to do with the matchbox, and I can't help but look down at it in my hands.

I glance around the darkness nervously, sure that there are other eyes on me. I start to take quicker breaths and I'm sure I'm close to hyperventilating so I try to slow down.

I slide the little box open and pull the note out. I can't quite read the tiny words that unfold on the little scroll, but I know they are there.

I strike one of the matches, the flicker of light jumping to life before me. For a second I just stare at it, watching how free and powerful such a small thing is, then I look back at the note.

The whole thing kind of reminds me of a fortune cookie, except now there is no cookie and the little piece of paper I get inside is more like a death threat.

I hold it up to the light, read carefully, and gasp. I think I'm shaking as I read over his words.

Anna,

Here is a gift from me to you: a little something to keep your flame alive. Don't make me have to put it out.

You see, I'd like the chance to get to know you a little better. You seem like the type of person I could use, but I really don't want to kill anyone else. So don't walk away from me this time.

Get the photograph, and meet me in two days by the place with the good burgers, remember? 2:00 pm on the dot.

Caesar.

I look back at the camera, then again at the note. I take a shaky breath as the note drops from my hands.

A knot forms in my throat and slowly turn my head back to the camera. He is watching me. And he's enjoying this.

I hold the match up to my lips, where the flame has eaten the wood almost to tips of my fingers. I watch as it gets closer and closer to burning me, but this time, I don't think I'm going to let it get that far.

Keeping my eyes on the lens, I blow out the flame. He knows I'll obey. He knows he's scared me into it.

But I can't help thinking that once I get what he wants, once I've played his game, he won't have any reason to keep me around anymore.

And then he'll kill me, too.