24 Hours Without Rules

Elizabeth

24 Hours Without Rules

Hello, I am Elizabeth Forest. I’m 35 which means this will be my 35th time having 24 hours with no rules one day a year. I was born and raised here, in this city. I was brought up fearing the 6th May or more commonly known as… the day with no rules. They say it’s a test, but I don’t know whether to believe them. If it were a test, why do they continue to torture us? I am a teacher and the children are always taught to do a test 3 times for accurate results, three times is enough, right? Wrong. Not when you’re dealing with the government. Although, I have no mind to speak for I know no different. My mother dealt with it, my grandmother dealt with it, my great grandmother dealt with it and now my children shall have to deal with it.

The first hour

Its 00:01 and you would've thought I would be a sleep. Frankly I’m not, I can’t. I must watch the doors and keep the children safe. It doesn’t help that I can hear car alarms going off up and down the street. I can hear screaming yet no police sirens rushing to the scene. I can hear people crying out for help yet there is no one left to help them. We only have ourselves for the next 24 hours.

The second hour

My eyelids are heavy and they have a numb stinging in them. I have to stay awake for the sake of my children. I could not bear it if anything happened to them on this dreadful night. My senses pick up light footsteps walking across the landing to the top of the stairs (where I’m seated) obviously my children unnerved by tonight. I want to comfort them, to tell them just to go to sleep, that everything will be alright in the morning but that’s not possible. By comforting them I shall leave my post and put them in even more danger, I cannot tell them to sleep for now I have no authority over them and by saying that it will be alright is a lie. The world is unable to be alright when this monstrous experiment is still in place.

The Third Hour

Just as my eyelids drift closed, I hear a bang at the door. My heart rate accelerates as I leap down the stairs. My husband is not far behind me and I fear he may trip over me. I am not as fast and alert as him as I have been on watch for 3 hours now. My children are upstairs and at the thought of them I stop in my tracks for a split second, wanting to go help them run to safety. Another bang at the door is all it takes to remind me of the situation and I’m back on my game, sprinting through the kitchen to the conservatory door. In front of me stands a tall figure. He’s carrying a gun and as the metal trigger shines in the moonlight, my heart skips a beat. I switch on the light to get a closer look. As his face is revealed, I can’t help but say his name ‘Sam?’ I see a flash of guilt cross his eyes but it is gone in an instance. He shifts his weight and points the gun towards my husband. ‘SAM! STOP! Why are you doing this Sam? What’s gotten into you’? He replies with two words that will stick with me until the day I lay in my grave…’why not?’

The fourth hour

We'd been standing there for at least an hour, in silence; I couldn’t tear my eyes away from his finger lying on the trigger. One movement and my husband would be gone. That’s all it would take. Its ironic really, is so hard to stay alive yet so easy to die. Sam still has the same look on his face. He hasn’t moved. My children, what must they be thinking? All I want to do is wrap my arms around them but then my husband would be dead and I would be left with nothing and no one. At the thought of them, Jacob the youngest touches my leg. Immediately I grab his hand. I look at his tear ridden eyes and see fear in them. What must he be thinking? At three years old, to see a man pointing a gun at your father, what would you do? Sam makes a swift turn and points the trigger towards Jacob. I realise what he’s about to do. My mouth goes dry and I can’t hears anything anymore other than my own breath. I didn't hear the trigger click into place, or the sound it makes when it leaves the gun. The only sound that brings me back to reality is the sound of my own child wailing in pain. In slow motion, he collapses and I only see my hands reaching out to him, my body has gone numb. I can hear screaming and it continues until I realise I am the one who is screaming. My husband rushes to Jacobs’s side as I look up to see a grin of delight on Sam's face. The man I knew and trusted, the man who was my best friend has no similarities to the new Sam I see standing and laughing at me and my son’s wounded body.