Left Alone

My ears strained. It wasn’t completely dark in my room; a nightlight shone through a wicker chair, creating a spider web shadow on my yellow walls. I rolled over on my back and opened my eyes, watching the spider web and listening.

It was always so quiet, and my room was in the top corner of the house, far away from the possibility of noise filtering up the stairway. My hand drifted up to my mouth, forming a loose fist and thumb sticking out, not to suck, but to chew. I found a hangnail on the side and began working, slowly pulling a small ribbon of skin away, still listening, the house still silent. I spit out the skin and started again on the millimeter ridge left by the previous tear.

What would happen if I went to sleep and when I woke up, everyone in the world had disappeared? I pulled my thumb away from my teeth and bent it towards my palm, using the nails on the other fingers to pick away. What would I eat? Who would take care of me? Would there still be water? I gripped my brown Pound Puppy closer to my body, and as the tears started to come, I put my thumb back to my mouth and tasted blood. Who would I talk to? Why would God do that to me? My chest tightened, and I understood the concept of personal hell as the tears slid down my face.

I couldn’t stand it anymore, so I sat up, quietly got out of bed and crept down the hall and down the first couple of stairs. I knelt down, peeking into the living room. Nothing. The light was on but the T.V. wasn’t, and the tears drying on my face were cold. I strained my neck, quietly panicking, to see down the hall and into the kitchen. Nothing… but then, there! Dad walked through, heading back to the basement. He didn’t see me, or he’d want to know why wasn’t in bed. Relief washed over me; for that night, anyway, I was safe.