Why I leave the light on

1, 2, skip a few... 99, 100

There was something strange about Grace, I should have noticed it sooner. The way words seam to hiss as they left her lips, the way here eyes would fixate on objects that only she could see, the way she would linger too close and for too long. However, as a child I lived in blissful ignorance.

There was one time when Grace and I played hide and seek in the eerie woods outside my house. It was her turn to hide so I buried myself under a mound of fallen leaves and began to count. As I grew increasingly impatient, my counting quickened and 54 quickly became 100.

"99,..100. READY OR NOT HERE I COME!" I shouted at the top of my lungs in warning.

I searched and searched for what seamed like a lifetime as my stomach began to growl in anguish. I began to panic- what if she's lost - I got scared she was alone and crying, calling out for me but that I couldn't hear her over my stomachs groans.

After hours (10mins) of searching I found her, standing stock still staring into the stream at her feet. I charged full force towards her, my arms flailing in an attempt at a wave but she didn't move, didn't even flinch. It was like someone had pressed pause and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get her attention. I began to shout and my pace quickened until I reached her, rugby tackling her to the ground, leaving ripples in the water as we rolled into the stream, a mass of flailing limbs.

As I stood, tentatively her face seamed to morph back into the Grace I'd met in the crowded playground on the first day of school. It was strange, like she'd just been pulled out of a fantastic dream. She leapt up, grabbed my hand and said

"God, you took your sweet time!"

I met her eyes and a nervous grin spread across my face.

As we headed home my worry turned to joy, mainly because I realised I'd won the game! As we skipped home I didn't question why her hand stuck to mine or why as we waltzed up the stairs ranting and raving, a red trail followed her up the banister. I was just happy my friend was okay.

Nothing seamed to register as wrong when I heard the wailing cry of our neighbour sobbing into my mothers shoulder. Or when I came down to investigate the disturbance and saw the limp corpse of her cat, Milow, strewn across the kitchen counter. I nearly assumed it was a road accident between a careless adult and a helpless creature.

Grace was different after that day, like something had snapped inside her, like a faulty wire or a lose screw. I tired to ignore it and carry on with our typical fun and games, passing over the browning stain embedded into my carpet.

"It's just paint" I'd tell myself anytime I make the mistake of knocking the book 'randomly' placed in the centre of my room.

Yet, no matter how hard I tried, no matter how long I ignored it, no matter what I said, you could never take back what you did could you Grace? In your mind, the only way to move on was to do it again
And again
And again
Until you'd had enough and you finally snapped.

I just wish I'd realised sooner.