One Step, Two Step Three Step. My pig-tails fall over my shoulder, my bangs barely reaching my eyes, my school bag weighing on my shoulders. Four Steps. Five Steps. The moon shines bright as if wanting to illuminate my path, making me visible. Wanting to make the world know where I was. Six Step, seven step. The apartment complex seemed to be a ghost town. A frog jumped slowly across the path, each jump slower than the last. So small, so defenseless, so slow. Its dark shadow receded into a neighbor's garden. Leaving no trace. Eight Steps, Nine Steps. The sound of pencils hitting the ends of the box turned into a smooth rhythm as I reach a corner where the mailbox meets an apartment.
If only I had gone a different way. If only I could have been sick. If only school had been canceled. If only mom would have gone with me. If only people have been outside. There are so many things that could have changed. So many others besides me. To this day I still don't know why me. I was a good daughter, I had parents that loved me, a sister who played with me. I attended school on my best behavior. I received good grades, I had good friends. The teachers said I had a bright future ahead of me. So why me.
I still remember it. I still feel it. The exact moment I turned that corner. The exact moment I was no longer illuminated by the light of the mailbox. The exact moment so many things could have gone differently. I turned the corner where the apartment 1617 changed my life. I remember the large curved leaves that were next to the door. The leaves I tried for support. The long pole that held the second floor, I held for my life. Funny how I recall every single detail, however the moment the police arrived I was mute. My body was shivering in shock. There were dry tears on my cheek. There were no tears left to shed anymore; only pity. I still remember it. The sound of my mother crying, the sirens outside. The flash of red and blue became a blur as the police tried to get me to talk.
The room was dark, all I could feel has the hard mattress against my back. I tried to move. But I felt powerless, defeated, alone. I had lost my voice. I had lost the ability to speak; to scream. I had lost everything. At the age of eight I was lost.
