Holding My Breath [Wattys 2016]

7 4 ~ A n n a

                 

Flashback ~ December 30, 2010

When I get to the barn, the first thing I see is the padlock connecting the two doors. I want to scream. I want to kick the door in or just collapse to the ground until I die from the cold. But I don't.

I can't.

I have to do this right because otherwise I will get caught.

But for once, things work out in my favor. As I grab onto the chains of the lock, they fall off easily to the ground. It isn't even locked, just pulled closed so that the snow won't get in. A breath of relief escapes my lips and I almost laugh.

I don't open both of the barn doors. I just crack one open enough to slip in and pull it shut behind me, a gasp escaping my lips. It's warm in here. Not too warm, not warm enough to even consider warm, but way better than the frozen air outside.

For a few minutes, I don't move. I just keep hugging myself and rubbing my arms to try and get warm. I keep stepping on my feet to try and keep them from freezing off. I can't stay here too long. The morning will come, and the people who feed the horses will come out, or the owner of the land will. Somebody will find me. I'm a trespasser. They will call the police.

I glance around in the dimly lit barn. I see stalls on either side of me, horses watching my moves as I step barefoot across the cool dirt floor. They don't make any noise, just watch me with their shadowed eyes and shift around in their stalls a little. I walk up to one of the stalls, the horse not moving with my approach. Even a human would probably move away from me if I walked towards them now. They would be disgusted with me.

But this horse doesn't. I carefully reach up a hand to stroke the diamond-shaped patch of white on its forehead. The hair there is coarse and stiff, but I stand there for a minute with the horse, not really knowing why. Or what I'm waiting for.

Then I turn away. It's doubtful that the owners would come in right now, in the middle of the night, but I don't want to risk it. The horses have blankets over their backs, and I wonder for a moment whether there might be any extras here. I walk over to the center of the barn, where a heater sits, glowing orange. I stand in front of it for a few minutes before moving towards where I see supplies hung on the walls and barrels full of horse feed. It takes me a minute to sort through everything, but I don't find anything useful.

Then I notice a string hanging from the ceiling, attached to a square. Not just a square, but a door. Reaching up, I have to stand on my toes to catch the string and pull on it. The square pulls down to unfold a set of wooden stairs. To me, it looks more like a ladder that is slanted to look like stairs.

So there's a loft.

By the time I reach the top of the ladder it's cold again, and I'm shivering, but I'm in luck. In the loft is some extra supplies and boxes. I look through a couple of boxes before I find one with old clothes and take a ratty blanket from it. It takes me a little more time, but I manage to find a pair of old work boots. They have a hole in the top of the right one, but I take a couple extra pair of socks to make up for it.

I stop and assess myself before I head back down. My clothes are still wet and cold, but there's not much I can do about that. I'm only going to take what I need.

I know it's wrong. I know I shouldn't be stealing. I know I should be freezing out in the cold right now, but I don't really want to die. I realize after a couple of seconds that this is a felony. I'm breaking and entering. I'm stealing. I'm doing it for my own survival, and I'm not taking too much, but it's still a crime.

I feel guilty, but I'm going to do it anyway. It's not like what I took seemed to be something that they needed all that badly since it was boxed up in the attic with old books and knick-knacks that didn't look like they had been touched in years.

Before I leave, I sit down by the heater for a few more minutes, just trying to soak up as much heat as possible before I submit myself to the frigid air outside. The tingling in my fingers and toes freaks me out and it hurts, too. It burns. I press part of the blanket to my forehead when I notice that it's bleeding again. I tear off a piece and wrap it around the wound when I realize that it isn't going to stop anytime soon. I don't have time to nurse my concussion. I don't even have the time I'm taking to warm up.

If Caesar gets to this place, he might just burn it to the ground or something. I wouldn't put it past him.

So I stand up, pulling my sleeves over my hands and pull the blanket around my shoulders. My hood is pulled over my head, the drawstrings closing it up as far as it will go.

And I step out of the barn, shutting the door behind me.

I see lights on inside the house on the other side of the property.

So I run. As fast as I can, dropping underneath the fence. And then I bolt for the trees, keeping just out of sight while still following the road.

I wonder if the police have found the car yet.

I wonder if this really is a dream.

I hope it is. As much as I hope that my parents will be there when I get home.