If You Resonate

Broken Hearts

We arrive at a local bargain store. Everything under five dollars, the signs claimed. These types of small, dimly lit Mom & Pop stores were pretty commonplace back home in Panama City. Since Marschwaters is on the same scale, it doesn't surprise me to see a similar community. The tiny parking lot is crowded with shrubs, desperate to reach sunlight. The black scars in the asphalt are the doors to their freedom and I watch as they sway in the light wind.

"Here's a list for each of you. Grab as much as you can find and meet me back at checkout."

I look at the small paper. Dad's usually neat handwriting, now nothing more than a few illegible scribbles. I suspect he was ill prepared for the condition of our new home and quickly jotted these things down in a frantic effort to make the house livable. The first item I take a guess to read 'bleach'. 

Guess I'm on cleaning products.

"Dad were you writing with your toes? This is impossible to understand." Robin mumbles a curse and rushes ahead.

"Ro! It's not like that, let me explain." I watch them go, with a sigh of relief.

Unsure of how long the store run might take, I plan to take my time gathering the items on my list. I'm not exactly eager to get back to that disembodied voice. Inside, it's dim, almost as if a single bulb were used to light all eight hundred feet. I can hear Robin and Dad arguing over what was written versus what Robin actually saw on his list.

There are no aisle signs or directories. Merchandise seemed to merely be stocked by similarity of use. I find the bleach, mops, rags and the like in the same section with body wash and shampoo. A 2.99 gallon of bleach is on sale and I'm instantly reminded of the mice. With the intention of taking the full supply, I grab the nearest gallon. Then everything goes black...

I can't hear anything from the store anymore. The ringing of the cash register has gone mute. Robin's and Dad's voices are gone. The gallon of bleach is no longer in my hand.

Don't call out...

I faintly hear crying in the distance, but it's too dark. Not quite the blubbering of a child, but still not the shameful hiding of distress by an adult.

Don't call out...

I don't move. I can't. I shift my weight a bit causing me to feel something warm on my toes. A familiar pungency hits my nose forcing my lungs to constrict.

Another massacre?

I don't hear any water running. I don't hear any splashing. This isn't the kind of darkness your eyes adjust to.

Whoever is crying, is getting louder, no, it's getting closer. Unease sits heavy on my chest. I'm panicking.

Relax, it will pass. Don't freak out.

"Why?" A girl's voice comes through the darkness. She must be the one crying... "Please, I won't tell. I won't tell..."

A shrill scream blasts through the blackness. I quickly protect my ears. It's bitingly cold. I feel my blood chilling. My fingertips are numb.

Heavy footstops gallop in the distance. Light padding. A hard thud.

"No! Stop!" She screams.

I can't breathe. I can't move.

I have to get out of here!

I feel my legs jerked from under me, my head smashes into the ground. Consciousness is leaving me, but not before my body is drawn into the darkness.

It's so warm...

My body is heavy and drenched in sweat. I try to open my lids, but it's useless. My vision is blurry. An intense throbbing beats at the back of my head like a heartbeat. I run my fingertips back to find a golf ball sized lump. My fingers are sticky with my own blood.