The Contest to Sleep

I can hear them in the other room, but I pull a pillow over my head. I don’t want it to be morning just yet, and two little dogs won’t be able to stir me from my warm bedding. Their tinny toenails are clattering on the hard wood floor in the living room, and then the sound becomes less sharp as they roam onto the kitchen’s linoleum floor.

There is silence, then a loud crash. It must be the skillets on the shelf. The rich, vibrant ringing of the metal is unmistakable. They toenails click all at once. She must have jumped back. I know it is Buttercup and not Wesley because Wesley would have run. They nails are clicking again. I hear her breathing, sniffing, but I know it is my imagination. I’m not quite close enough to hear that.

The nails click louder as they walk into the living room, to my bedroom door, then a loud scratching. I roll out of bed to open the door. They run in with their short tail wagging wildly, and I realize I was wrong. The dogs had won. I was petting them and getting ready to feed them. They had won… this time.

A Magic Cat and a Bushy Tree

I'm not sure why I remember my black cat. It has been fourteen years since I last saw him alive. My mom thought that having a fluffy kitten around would be wonderful, and because she is very unoriginal she named the coal black kitty Blacky.

It took Blacky around two months to decide that he didn't want to be around the house. My brothers were cruel and my mom started to say that the family cat was feral, no good. At six years old I didn't really understand what my mom meant. Blacky was wild, he was free. Blacky was everything that I wanted to be, and even though he ran away from all my family, he loved me. I would spend my free time out in the woods. At three o'clock he would meet me in the space under a low bushy tree in the woods and we would talk. I would rub his head and ask him what fights had caused his new wounds. I knew he had won. He was so strong.

At night Blacky was not there. He was free and safe, roaming the woods and fields. I would lie in my bed and wait to see if I would hear the slow footsteps coming towards my room. If they didn't come, I would fall asleep to peaceful dreams, but most nights they did come. They brought a monster. I was always afraid and I wanted to run, like Blacky did from my brothers. I would think of my wild cat. He was so brave. He loved me. He would keep me safe if he could.

One night the monster came and as I lay there thinking of my wonderful cat, suddenly I was there with him. My bed was gone and I was transported to the tree. The clear night sky was full of a thousand stars. I leaned back against the trunk of the tree as a gentle breeze brushed my hair away from my face. My cat was magical.

For the next year I could escape every night when I heard the monster coming into my room. I wasn't afraid because I had the cat and the tree and a perfect starry sky. I had almost forgotten what the monster was like. I had forgotten how he would hurt me, but he didn't like to be forgotten. One day he reminded me. He said the cat was no good and that it was worthless. I tried to tell him Blacky wasn't worthless. I tried to tell him I loved the cat. I tried to make him stop, but I was too little. I wished that I was strong and brave like my cat. The monster grabbed the shotgun and a piece of meat. He tempted my magical cat to the house with the promise of food, and then shot it. I watched a pool of red form. My cat was dead. I knew I would die soon, that night when the monster came, and I had no magical cat to protect me. No cat to whisk me away to the tree. That night, I lay in bed, hugging my arms close. The footsteps were coming and I had nowhere to run.

I heard my door creaking open. I squeezed my eyes tight as tears slide out. I whimpered my cat’s name. Then I heard a soft rustle. There was something in my bed that was jamming into my back, like a twig. I imagined that there was a gentle purring beside my ear. I could feel the breeze. I opened my eyes wide. I was there. I was under the tree. I was looking up into a perfect starry sky. And he was there: my wonderful, wild cat; my strong, brave cat; my magical Blacky. The monster wasn't about to truly kill my wild, brave cat. He would always be there to keep me safe.

Oppertunity Missed

I could have said something, but I didn’t. I am sinking into the white, flower print couch, looking around the room at the tear stained faces surrounding me. I’m not going to tell them – I cannot tell them – that I knew. They would never forgive me. Jessica’s hands are clenched tightly around a soggy tissue.

“Why didn’t she tell use?” she sobs out. “I would have done anything to help. But now I can’t, because right not she is miles away and we don’t even know if she’ll be ok. How could she do this to us? Why didn’t she tell us?”

Jessica’s questions burned in my ears. Alex did tell. She told me. I was just a fleeting comment, but I should have known, I should have told. My eyes are glued to my lap. I don’t say anything. The new jeans my parents had sent and my long sleeve t-shirt had looked pretty this morning, before we all found out, but now they are just another way to hide myself. I could have told. If they knew they would hate me. Alex isn’t in her place on the cushioned footstool. I could have kept that from happening.

“Sarah, I can’t stay here anymore. It just isn’t worth it,” Alex had said, in a tinny whisper. The Staff were always listening. They were always finding reasons to punish us. One wrong move and you wouldn’t be allowed to talk for a month. Or they would make you stand with them and not do anything. Not even study the school books in the morning. A day of that was fine, but week after week they would tell you your faults and flaws, and you would continue to stand, away from the forced alliance and comfort of the group. I knew what she meant. You can’t leave this place. It is a sentence that can last for years. There was only one escape, and we had all considered it.

But we only considered it. We talked about it in hushed whispers. It was never more than a reminder that if things got so bad we couldn’t go on, there was a way out: the new bottle of Tylenol in a grocery bag before they locked it up, the bleach under the sink, storing up the tranquilizers they handed out so we couldn’t wake up until morning shift got there. It was hell, and we all knew there was only one way out, but we only kept it as hope. Hope that we were still, in some small way, in control. But Alex broke. She couldn’t take it anymore.
The lettering on my shirt read "Little River Farm, Helping Teens With Life". Miles from civilization there was no way to run. Cut off from communication with our families there was no way to call for help. Surrounded by Staff who were paid to sedate us there was no way to bargain for a release. The only way out...

The tears flooded my eyes, and for the first time since we heard, I cried. I cried because of the friend I had lost, who would not be allowed to come back if she was ok, who we wouldn’t know if she had lived. But I also cried because I was not with her, on the outside. I was still trapped. I cried because I could have prevented our pain now, but at what cost. In this place there is only one way out, and it is a path no one has mapped. We do not know where it leads, and what lies past what we see. I envy Alex, because she is free, and I do not know if I will be able to achieve what she has gained.