Holding My Breath [Wattys 2016]

6 8 ~ A n n a

                

Flashback ~ December 30, 2010

I was lost in the woods. I was holding onto myself for warmth because I was running out of it. It was winter. My family was dead.

This sounds like the beginning of a horror movie. Except it's too real.

I don't really remember how I get out of the woods, exactly. I don't really remember even trying to. I remember peeling myself up, fighting against the cold and the branches that were chaining me down. I remember standing and wondering what the point of going was anymore. I remember asking myself, "Why should I keep walking?"

I was sure he was watching. I was sure that he was waiting. He was probably laughing. He was probably plotting.

But I kept going. I must have because after what felt like hours, what felt like years, I find my way to a spot in the woods that looks like light is shining into it.

But then the light fades back and forth. I stumble towards the passing light watching it change hues ever so slightly against the twigs and ferns in the dark.

I find my way closer to the light on the trees. It's the passing of cars, the short bursts of their headlights as they speed down the slowly melting road.

I had to stop to empty my stomach in the bushes. The car crash must have just made my concussion worse, or maybe it's just the shock. Maybe it is the pounding on my skull or the horror of the idea of my family's bodies floating in the lake.

I take a breath and step to the edge of the tree line, peeking out into the darkness of the streets, cars passing by without noticing me.

And then there I am again, with my house across the street. People are crying. Lights are flashing. My parents and neighbors are outside, talking to police officers. Toby is rolling in the snow. Even my ex-best friend is out here. They're all wondering where I am, if I'm okay.

I blink.

It's gone.

It's all gone.