The Voice

The room is cold when my eyes pop open. He must’ve left the window open. I get off my bed, shaky legs guiding me to the source of my goosebumps. I look over to see James sleeping. He looks younger in his sleep, even though he’s only 17. The worry lines on his forehead disappear and the tattoos covered. Sleeping is the only way I can look at him without fear.

            I shuffle back to my creaky mattress, but that’s when the banging started. Not normal, friendly knocking, but a hard banging against the front door. It’s them.

            They warned us about them, they had classes telling us to stay away from them. But no matter how hard you try, somehow you are connected to them. I lock the bedroom door and jump to the closet. There are probably a thousand better hiding places, but my 15-year-old brain can’t spot them. I curse at myself for not grabbing a phone.

            Finally the front door is broken down, just as I am closing the closet door.

“HELLO?! WE’RE HERE FOR JAMES!” a vicious voice shouts from the living room.

            A few grumbles come from a few people. “Go through the kitchen, look for stuff,” the Voice commands the people. They won’t find anything, we don’t own anything of value.  My mind is racing, but I try my hardest to stay quiet. If you weren’t, the rest of your life would be in suffering. That is, if they let you live.

            “JAMES! YOU KNEW WE WERE COMING!” the voice shouts. It’s high pitched, with cracks in between the words. Couldn’t be older than me.

            I hear rummaging in our cupboards, “They don’t got nothing, man,” a strange low voice says from outside our room’s door. “Fine, then start looking through the rooms.”

            First my mother’s door is opened. They won’t find anything worth value in there, either. The woman who would do anything for her kids has been replaced by a lump of heat in her bed. Next it’s my door. When they start with the lock on our door, James sits up. I’m not sure how long he’s been awake. He gets up, goes to the door and unlocks it. “PERFECT! Hah, hello you little rat.” All I hear is shuffling away from the door.

            Silent tears roll down my face as I hear them take my brother away. I reposition myself, ready to get out. I want to go to my mother, wake her up. I want to go to my little brother, comfort him.

            The closet door is flung open, crushing my dreams. All I see is the Voice, with a pistol in his hand, holding the door.