Holding My Breath [Wattys 2016]

7 6 ~ A n n a

                 

Flashback ~ December 30, 2010

Arriving home to an avalanche of reality isn't what I wanted. I wanted it to be a dream. I wanted it to all go away and then I could walk in and eat dinner with my family. Listen to them talk about their day. Listen to the funny stories that I've heard a million times.

But we don't always get what we want, do we?

I don't know what time I get there. I know that passing over the bridge is what tore me apart. The fact that there were no police cars. No lights. Nobody coming to help. I know that if they are down there, it's too late anyway. But nobody even knows. Nobody even cares.

When will the police find out? There wasn't a car on the road other than ours when it happened. The damage done to the side of the bridge is enough to make people wonder, surely. But I have to wonder who is going to call them.

Who is the one who will make the discovery that people died there?

If someone died. We could all have made it out, right? My parents might have anyway... unless Caesar made sure they were dead. Why else would he cause the crash? All I can think of is that he wanted me to suffer and he wanted my family out of the way.

After all, I did tell them everything. They knew too much in his eyes.

I knew my way home from the bridge. It took me a couple hours to get here, having to backtrack or squint through the dark for signs or landmarks to help me. A lot of it was walking in a direction and hoping that I was choosing the right path. A lot of it was blindly walking or running or even just giving up but still going just in case that I was on the way here.

And eventually, I did make it. I wish I hadn't, though. I wish I didn't walk up to see my house completely dark. No lights. Nobody alive to look for me.

That means it's true.

They are dead.

Mom.

Dad.

Toby.

And me.

I'm dead too. I'm not alive anymore. I feel like Anna is slipping away from me. I broke into a barn and stole from innocent people. Granted, they may not have been innocent, or maybe they were, but I always assume that someone is good. It's important to always assume that someone is good. Because I have to believe that there is more good than bad in this world.

Otherwise, then I don't really know what the point of this is anymore.

Walking up to my house is like walking up to a graveyard. Like walking into the remains of a war zone. There is nothing left but the ashes of the fire I have raged. Or at least that's what Caesar would call it.

Maybe he's right about me. Maybe my demon is taking over or maybe I was just a fire ready to rage all this time.

I open the door. It's unlocked, which is what scares me the most about walking into the place I grew up in. I don't even know why I'm coming back. To get stuff before I go? To say goodbye? I have no idea, but I do know that I'm not going to stay.

Inside, I shut the door but don't take off the boots or blanket yet. It's a relief to be back indoors again, but I'm still freezing. Our heat was cut off weeks ago.

It doesn't feel like I'm walking into my own house. It feels like I'm walking into a dollhouse. It's all fake. It's all plastic and collected and completely manipulated. It feels like it was a million years ago. I can hardly remember the last time I saw my house this dark before I met Caesar.

I hear someone stirring in the kitchen and I freeze. It strikes me how unreal this is again. It just reminds me that I'm not really walking inside my own house now... This is a place of a stranger. I don't know that girl anymore.

I look around for something to use as a weapon, but there's nothing by the front door except a broken umbrella.

I take my chances with the umbrella and carefully step out of the work boots. I advance forward into the living room with quiet feet. The back door must have opened because I feel a cool breeze tickle my neck.

I spin around, wielding the umbrella like a baseball bat. Nothing's there. I flick on the light and keep going.

Nobody is in the kitchen. It feels wrong to have the lights on. Like I shouldn't be having the house alive when everyone who used to be here is dead.

I kill the lights and check the rest of the house, but nobody is in here. Nobody that I've found, anyway. When I'm sure that all of the blinds are shut, all the doors are shut, and every hiding place is vacant, I retreat back to my room.

I draw the curtains.

Before they shut completely, though, I see a light on in the house next to ours. I've looked through this window a million times to look in that window at my neighbor's house. I haven't done that in ages, but now I pull the curtains back for a moment to see her.

Charlie.

She catches my eye, and I can tell she's surprised so to see me. I don't blame her. We used to be best friends, so it's not like we don't know each other like the back of our hands.

She knows something.

She knows.

I can see the worry on her face, and something else that I don't want to identify. I'm not even sure I know what it is.

She pulls her curtains shut and I do the same after a minute, the step back from the window.

I feel myself collapse into the mattress and let the sobs rack my body. They're dead. They're really dead. That doesn't sound right... But it's true.

They're dead.

Mom.

Dad.

Toby.

And me.

I'm dead too.