Alayke Tru lost everything in her life with a single bullet. All her family is dead. She's ignored by almost everyone. All she wants to do is go home but home doesn't exist anymore.
If Alakye is willing to take the risk, she can disappear in...
The light bulb flashes, dances, flutters, and fools with my mind.
I need to turn off the bulb, but it's like the fireflies I never get to see in Sacramento. They hide in secret spots and they are difficult to find. The light from a firefly in California glows dimly. Nothing like the fireflies you see in books and on television. I spent hours looking for them when I was younger. I would create perfect wetland habitats to attract them near the pond.
My eyes blur and my head lurches.
The glow from the light the flickers, flashes, and then fades.I pull my knees in closer to my chest and conserve the heat. I can't distract my mind. Clutter thoughts run rampant in my and twist my brain in knots. My head fills with the one TV station we got when I was younger, it had documentaries on Fireflies.
My eyes tighten up block out the flicker from the light. The last sparks from the bulb to dies. Cold penetrates my clothes and digs into me.
The room spins.
No.
My breath quickens as dark memories flood my thoughts. I draw my legs in even tighter, fervently try to block out the day my life finally completed its slow crumble. The last moments of my brother's life stab through my mind like sharp spikes. The gunshots scream through the night and slings his large frame like a rag doll.
My eyes shut tighter as I fight to push out the sight of my older brother's blood pools...
Fireflies glow because, because...
The spins stop.
I grasp at the memory, and force the other bloody thoughts back. Push the blood into a spot that I won't have to touch. Behind the place, I keep my older brother safe and alive and whole: Behind the glow of our life together in the time before, when we were safe from the monsters.
Breathe.
I try to swallow tiny puffs of wet stale air in the unfinished remodeled bathroom. The sink drips with slow pings down the bathroom drain. Each drop of water clicks and fills the air with a musty muddy scent. My foster family's precious unfinished Italian marble bathroom. It's a victim of the Global Financial Crisis that everyone once said could never happen.
I try and calm myself down before I make too much noise. Don't alert the monster of my presence. The ebb and flow of medication crash through my mind again spinning the room. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep quiet.
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Quiet, quiet, please, please.
He'll come.
I plead with myself, but I already know it's too late. The calm I need to deal with the panic attack isn't something I will find this time. The forgotten bathroom door opens with a loud creak of disuse. My eyes flip open wide, my pupils constrict than dilate to adjust to the harsh backlight. His large mud-crusted black boots fill the bathroom doorway.
