Post by D.D. on May 14, 2015 14:29:35 GMT
This day, a small child runs freely in the schoolyard with a small, red ball in her hands. Her screams of delight overshadowing the sound of the gentle autumn breeze.
Amy is her name, 8 years old.
With her is her little adopted stray, Chauncey.
They play together, she throws the ball and the little pup fetches it for her. She giggles as she bends her tiny legs to hug the diminutive animal.
The setting sun marks the arrival of another sleepy afternoon, she hears her father call, but she knows she has time. Birds fly overhead, black wings dotting the heliotrope sky, streaks of reddish light envelop the horizon.
She had never known danger or pain. To her, a strange voice seemed more inviting than perilous. Almost like a whisper, the sound came in small bursts in the chill air. "Be afraid of the Light." They'd say. Amy stopped, arms to her sides, and dropped her ball.
"What?" she asked, the cold wind blew again. "Be afraid, Amy."
She held her hands close to her chest. "Why?"
Chauncey's ears perked, the little pup running to her, began to bark at the empty air. Amy flinched. Her messy, auburn hair blown back by the wind.
"The Light is coming to take you away."
Amy stoops down and scoops the small dog into her arms. "Why?"
"The Light is coming to take everyone away."
"What do I do?" Amy says, tears beginning to well in her eyes.
"Hide."
Without a word, Amy ran as fast as she could, Chauncey bouncing up and down in her arms, back into her school.
She knew a safe place away from the mean teachers and mean kids, a place she could always hide and they could never find her.
It was quiet and dark, save for a dim light coming from the Coach's office. The Gymnasium, a large open space where no one could hide, no one but Amy. She slunk behind the bleachers, a surprisingly roomy and neglected shadow in the Gym that nobody cared for, nobody but her.
Here she let Chauncey from her grasp and the little pup ran over to Amy's nest, a collection of abandoned sweaters, jackets and toys accumulated over the years of neglect and put to use by this second year student of Redwood Elementary School.
"Quiet, Chauncey!", Amy hissed under her breath. "We don't want to get caught."
Chauncey, curled into a ball and laying on the small mountain of clothing and toys looked up at her inquisitively.
Amy looked out over the empty gymnasium through the slits under the bleachers. There was no sign anyone else was there, not even a sound but the sound of her own heavy breathing echoing in the empty room.
Chauncey put his head down.
Amy moved over to Chauncey, sitting down and putting him on her lap. She began to cry, petting the small dog. All the while, he whines and licks away her tears amidst sobs. She can no longer cry, the distracting strokes of the dog's tongue tickle her cheeks and soon she's smiling again.
Happy thoughts find her once more, in this tender moment as she looks into the little pup's eyes she realizes she had completely forgotten the world around her.
"Daddy!" she shouts. Instantaneously covering her mouth again.
Amy jumps to her feet, scrambling to exit the cover of the bleachers. Chauncey followed close behind.
She couldn't understand how she could have forgotten her father, standing in the school parking lot talking to Ms. Weller about Amy's grades again.
He always talked for a long time. She had to get him, she had to take him to the safe place, the voice warned her. She didn't want her father to be taken away like her mother was.
There was sudden, nauseating silence.
Amy stopped midway down A-Hall, covering her ears. Her ears had popped.
Opening her eyes from her pained expression she could see the end of the hallway, the doorway that lead out onto the schoolyard was there. The small elongated windows situated on the upper half of each door told a foreboding story. The light coming through them was unnatural, or at least uncommon. She slowly pushed the doors open.
The wind was dead. The sky was a deep violet. Not a sound disturbed the atmosphere.
Trees were still, the usual sounds of the city were gone. There was no cadence of cars making their way downtown or the usual buzz of tech in the air. In fact, many cars seemed to be simply parked out on the streets or slowly coming to a stop, driver-less against other vehicles and utility poles. Despite a few muffled bumps and distant sirens, the world seemed to be muted. The quiet was palpable.
Amy fell back, tears streaming down her face. She stared blankly at the spot near her father's car where Ms. Weller and her father should have been, the space there, just like her heart, was empty.
The light had taken them all. Save for Chauncey, she was alone in the world. His licking couldn't stop her tears this time.
Amy is her name, 8 years old.
With her is her little adopted stray, Chauncey.
They play together, she throws the ball and the little pup fetches it for her. She giggles as she bends her tiny legs to hug the diminutive animal.
The setting sun marks the arrival of another sleepy afternoon, she hears her father call, but she knows she has time. Birds fly overhead, black wings dotting the heliotrope sky, streaks of reddish light envelop the horizon.
She had never known danger or pain. To her, a strange voice seemed more inviting than perilous. Almost like a whisper, the sound came in small bursts in the chill air. "Be afraid of the Light." They'd say. Amy stopped, arms to her sides, and dropped her ball.
"What?" she asked, the cold wind blew again. "Be afraid, Amy."
She held her hands close to her chest. "Why?"
Chauncey's ears perked, the little pup running to her, began to bark at the empty air. Amy flinched. Her messy, auburn hair blown back by the wind.
"The Light is coming to take you away."
Amy stoops down and scoops the small dog into her arms. "Why?"
"The Light is coming to take everyone away."
"What do I do?" Amy says, tears beginning to well in her eyes.
"Hide."
Without a word, Amy ran as fast as she could, Chauncey bouncing up and down in her arms, back into her school.
She knew a safe place away from the mean teachers and mean kids, a place she could always hide and they could never find her.
It was quiet and dark, save for a dim light coming from the Coach's office. The Gymnasium, a large open space where no one could hide, no one but Amy. She slunk behind the bleachers, a surprisingly roomy and neglected shadow in the Gym that nobody cared for, nobody but her.
Here she let Chauncey from her grasp and the little pup ran over to Amy's nest, a collection of abandoned sweaters, jackets and toys accumulated over the years of neglect and put to use by this second year student of Redwood Elementary School.
"Quiet, Chauncey!", Amy hissed under her breath. "We don't want to get caught."
Chauncey, curled into a ball and laying on the small mountain of clothing and toys looked up at her inquisitively.
Amy looked out over the empty gymnasium through the slits under the bleachers. There was no sign anyone else was there, not even a sound but the sound of her own heavy breathing echoing in the empty room.
Chauncey put his head down.
Amy moved over to Chauncey, sitting down and putting him on her lap. She began to cry, petting the small dog. All the while, he whines and licks away her tears amidst sobs. She can no longer cry, the distracting strokes of the dog's tongue tickle her cheeks and soon she's smiling again.
Happy thoughts find her once more, in this tender moment as she looks into the little pup's eyes she realizes she had completely forgotten the world around her.
"Daddy!" she shouts. Instantaneously covering her mouth again.
Amy jumps to her feet, scrambling to exit the cover of the bleachers. Chauncey followed close behind.
She couldn't understand how she could have forgotten her father, standing in the school parking lot talking to Ms. Weller about Amy's grades again.
He always talked for a long time. She had to get him, she had to take him to the safe place, the voice warned her. She didn't want her father to be taken away like her mother was.
There was sudden, nauseating silence.
Amy stopped midway down A-Hall, covering her ears. Her ears had popped.
Opening her eyes from her pained expression she could see the end of the hallway, the doorway that lead out onto the schoolyard was there. The small elongated windows situated on the upper half of each door told a foreboding story. The light coming through them was unnatural, or at least uncommon. She slowly pushed the doors open.
The wind was dead. The sky was a deep violet. Not a sound disturbed the atmosphere.
Trees were still, the usual sounds of the city were gone. There was no cadence of cars making their way downtown or the usual buzz of tech in the air. In fact, many cars seemed to be simply parked out on the streets or slowly coming to a stop, driver-less against other vehicles and utility poles. Despite a few muffled bumps and distant sirens, the world seemed to be muted. The quiet was palpable.
Amy fell back, tears streaming down her face. She stared blankly at the spot near her father's car where Ms. Weller and her father should have been, the space there, just like her heart, was empty.
The light had taken them all. Save for Chauncey, she was alone in the world. His licking couldn't stop her tears this time.
