The Giraffe in the Room

Hunting season

My room was so small. I could barely move in it. Every now and then, momma would let me come out and run around in the backyard. When I say backyard, I mean woods.

"You have to be very quiet," she whispered to me,"or else we'll have to leave."

I don't remember exactly what happened that made momma and I have to leave daddy. All I remember was a bang and lots if blood, and them momma screaming and us driving away in the car. I was 3 years old when we left. I'm 11 now.

Sometimes, late at night, I could hear my momma cry through the thin walls of our house. We only had 2 rooms. Technically we only actually had one, and mine was a closet. We didn't have any lighting, no hot water, no nothing. Just us. We lived in the middle of a forest.

Momma thought me things during the day in her room. How to read, write, do math. She said we had everything we needed right here.

Sometimes momma would act strange. She would laugh and cry uncontrollably. She would scream at me randomly. Sometimes she would smack me.

Every once in a while, men with guns would come to the forest to hunt. It just about drove momma crazy. I didn't like it that much either, but I couldn't control it. I just minded my own business during hunting season. Every time a gun went off, my momma sat on the floor and whispered something I couldn't understand. It was scary, but I left her be.

Now, one day during hunting season, something horrible happened.

Momma and I were sitting in her room when there was a loud knock on the door. Momma's eyes filled with fear. She crouched down, reaching under her bed to grab something. She pulled out a rifle.

"Go to your room and shut the door," she ordered.

I did as I was told. Except I didn't close the door all the way.

I watched as momma opened the door, pointing the gun at the people in front of her. There were two men, one with a bloody stain on his pant leg and a big tall one. The tall one looked at the gun, a frightened look on his face.

"Ma'am please, I just need some help for my friend," said the tall one, putting the hand he wasn't using up.

"How do I know they didn't send you? How do I know you aren't here to take me away?" She yelled at them, pointing her gun at both of them.

"Who are 'they'? We don't have anything to do with what you're talking about. My friend just needs help." The man was confused and trying to stay calm.

"Liar!," momma yelled,"you're lying. You know exactly what I'm talking about!" She was frantic. The look of fear in her eyes was replaced by a look of pure insanity.

"Ma'am, I don't know what-" the bullet my mother sent through his head cut him off.

I watched in horror as the innocent man crumpled to the floor. His eyes were wide open, and the blood dripping from his forehead made it look as though he would crying blood.

How could my mother do such a thing. I was so confused. So many thoughts were racing through my mind. All I could bring myself to do was close my door and fling myself onto my cot, trying not to think of the dead man in front of my house and the fact that his blood was on my mother's hands.

A few seconds later I heard another gunshot. That must've been my mom shooting the injured man. I closed my eyes and let myself cry. My momma, the woman who had raised me, was a monster. She was able to kill innocent people who meant no harm. I was so scared. I didn't know what to do with myself.

About ten minutes after momma had shot the hunters, I heard the front door close. I guessed she had gotten rid of the bodies.

She came into my room to tell me I should come out and eat. I listened to her. We ate mostly canned food, because that was all they had at the gas station close to our house. My momma heated everything up in a small microwave we had. Tonight we ate green beans and corn.

I wanted to see if my momma would be honest about what had happened.

"Who was at the door earlier?" I asked.

Momma finished chewing a green bean.

"A hunter. He needed some duck tape," she said casually.

"Did you give it to him?" I asked.

"Yep. Then he left," she answered, not making eye contact.

"Good," I squeaked out, knowing she was lying.

After dinner, my momma told me to go to bed.

"Go to bed, my little giraffe in the room," she said.

She only called me that name when she was feeling guilty about something. The name came from when I was little. I used to think the expression 'elephant in the room' actually meant that there was an elephant in the room. Except my room was too small for an elephant, so I said 'giraffe in the room' instead.

I trudged off to bed. I could not sleep that night. I lay awake, feeling things I've never felt about my mother before. Hatred. Angriness. And most of all, fear.