My bedroom is next to Charlene's.
We used to talk to each other by knocking on the wall.
Two knocks were 'hello'.
Three knocks were 'come to my room'.
One knock followed by three quick knocks was 'goodnight'.
If I knock now, I get no reply.
Sometimes I hear her crying at night, when she thinks no one can hear her.
I think she forgets that my bed is only a wall away from hers.
I hate him for making her cry like that.
I want to comfort her, but her door is always locked.
I know she will be angry if she knows I am listening to her anyway.
YOU ARE READING
Charlene (on hold)
Short Story"She goes out a lot. Although I never know when she's at home anyway, she rarely comes out of her room, and the door is always locked. Dad threatens to remove the lock nearly every week, but I know he never will." A short story (or long poem dependi...
