Under

• Madison Stephens, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2015

Rolling from gutters. Rolling from eyelids. Falling on asphalt. Falling on tiles. Draining. Pipes bursting. Waterways clogged. The rain has no end. And do my tears? My skin is forever pruned. My face is forever hollow. The concrete now wears the bumps of raindrops. The grass is no longer grass. The house has leaks. And so do my eyes. Every surface holds droplets. But I am tired of water. Tired of the icy blanket it coats you in with even the slightest touch of a rolling breeze. Tired of the bubble it secludes you in, locked away from the world still turning. But I can’t go back to that world. I'm under. Deep under.
 
Lost. But lost with nothing to find, for everything I own is right here below my feet, tucked spaciously into my peeling leather suitcase. The pink netted frills of this dress itch my legs and are no shield to the storm outside. I cannot stay here any longer. I know it can’t be safe.
 
The wooden pillars, now grey and decaying, cannot support this roof for long. The soggy walls give the air no choice but to rot with them, growing in mold as the air does with must. Specs of dust dance in the single ray of sunlight as they sorrowfully make their way to the concrete floor.
 
They’ll find me here sooner or later, or so tell me the ticks of my wristwatch. But I am reluctant to give in to the “sooner”, for the tick-tick-ticking which has driven me mad cannot amount to madness I will reach in the eerie concrete box of a jail cell. Especially one which I have no right to be in.
 
***
 
Running. Heart beating. Feet numb. My brain dizzies, my eyes blur. Everything. Is. Falling.
 
*** 
I open my eyes. I see the grey striped bed sheets and feather-filled pillow I'm lying on. But no, this is not the anticlimactic awakening of a bad dream. This is my reality. The cops have come. They've taken all that they wanted. It seems that's just me. A massacre of all happiness has occurred in the night. A massacre of all truth, all good reasoning. There is nothing I can do. This is my life now. It’s a shame I never made use of it before. The ethereal haze I've lived in is just about as dead as the murdered man whose death I've been framed for. I must escape. I have no choice. I am not content with living this life, this one with a fate decided by the devil.
 
***
My mind spins faster than I ever could believe. The old clock strikes its deafening bell at the hour of twelve. I look down at my feet. Then at my shaking hands. I turn my head to look behind me. I see the empty jail cell I was in before. I did it. I am free. A shiver ripples through my body. I know this isn’t the end.