You'll Never Open the Door

I didn’t do it. Imagine. Me. Out of all people. They sure think I did it. But I did not. Never in a million years. Never in a lifetime. 

My sister has been missing for a year now. It’s her 1st year anniversary of the day someone took her from me. But I wasn’t that someone. I’m still locked up. Still breathing though. I collapse onto the concrete floor of the jail cell. If only she’d have listened to me. 

It was a dark night. I told her to go to bed. I floated off to sleep on the living room couch. I woke up hearing muffled screams. I ran to her room. He had his horrible hand over her mouth, drowning out her pain. She was holding out her small hands and struggling. I ran to tackle him, but he jumped swiftly out the window like a shadow in the night. I started screaming and running after him. I ripped my favorite shirt on the shattered glass that surrounds the tiny square window, but I didn’t care. I held my breath and ran as fast as I could. I kept running after him until I lost sight of them. I was in the middle of the woods, but my mind was somewhere else. It was in a boiling river of ice, drowning. I didn’t know where I was going, but I didn’t even notice. I looked and looked for hours, until they found me next to a river. The cops. They thought I did it. They thought I threw her in. But why would I throw the only person I have left to love? I don't have an education, but I'm not that crazy.

That’s the story I told in court, but of course, when you’ve got a skin color as dark as mine, no one believes. Everyone thought I did it. There was no shame or pity, just assurance. I would be spending the rest of my life rotting in this jail cell. My poor sister rotting in who knows where, maybe miles away, and not in my arms. I begged them to keep looking. Told them it wasn’t me. They just pulled my hands behind my back and slapped my face until I would shut up. Maybe if I was lighter, they’d listen. But I’m not. I cry every day, but people look at me as if I’m dirt, and my tears are just watering the dark soil of my skin. I can’t anymore. I have nothing except the filthy plate of bread they give me every morning. Why. Why. Why. Help.

My hands are tied behind my back. I keep pulling and pulling, but I’ll never be set free. Even if I did manage to make it out of this dump, I’d still be stuck, wondering where she is. 

Every day, I ask myself the same questions. “Why did he take her? Why couldn’t he have taken me?”

I’m lost at this point. I never went to school, but It's never hard to realize when something is going wrong. I never had a family to guide me. My mother died of the plague right after she had my little sister, and my father decided he didn’t need two dark souls left on his hands, so he left too. I never remembered my parents. Them pushing me on the swings or cradling me in their loving arms always seemed like a distant memory. They were probably so beautiful. But I don't cry about them anymore. Now, I cry because I've lost everyone. Everything. From then on, it was me and my three year old sister. In just three weeks she’ll be turning four. 

My eyes are purple and red because of the amount of tears I’ve cried in here. I look like I’ve been starving, but I probably have. I forget if I’ve eaten or not the last couple days. But honestly, starving beats eating the horrible leftovers they throw through the metal bars of the cell. 

No one has ever talked to me, and I’ve never talked to anyone. After all, I have nothing to say. 

“Good morning.” It’s the first happy voice I’ve heard in months. “You know,” I look up. It’s a cop. “We found her.”

He starts pacing back and fourth, slowly and carefully, until he knows I'm watching him.

He kneels down and looks at me, almost in pity. “She was in the middle of the woods. Dead.” 

I haven’t heard my own voice in what feels like forever. “What?” I feel tears rushing to my eyes, forcing their way out.

He laughs and stands back up. “You can leave whenever you want, you know.”

I look up confused. He sees my interest and keeps going. “We never actually lock this door. We like to make bets sometimes, me and the rest of them cops, over who’ll try to bust themselves out or who will realize the door’s practically open. I always bet that you’ll never make it. Even if you opened the door.”

He’s right. My sorrow and self-hatred would make me collapse in a second. Even if I made it out.

I feel a hard pain in my stomach. It feels like I’m going to throw up, but I have nothing in my stomach to throw. I lie down, my hands still stretched out in handcuffs behind me. The cop walks away. I close my puffy eyes, and whisper to myself.

“She’s gone. And it’s time for you to go, too.” 

I close my eyes, and decide to never open them again.

I'm falling. Deeper and deeper down the volcano of tears. I barely touch the surface before I wake up.

I bolt awake from the nightmare. To my surprise, my hands aren't restrained anymore. I'm in the back of a wagon, and I can feel every bump of the rocks below the wheels as it speeds down a tiny dirt road. It's so relieving to know that I can still feel.

Suddenly, I realize that I have more things to worry about than my sense of touch. The wooden wagon is rocking and jumping and there's boxes all around me. I'm in the trunk. I can't quite see the driver. I rush to the front of the wagon and see the strange person gripping the halter of the horses. We're going too fast for me to grab the hood over his head. A sudden jump of the wagon makes me fall onto the boxes. With a small "argh" and an ache in my back, the driver turns around. All I can see is the small holes he cut in the mask. He has bright blue eyes, but it's too dark to see anything else. He turns back around.

"What am I doing here?" I scream.

The wagon stops suddenly and I fall forward. The man gets out, grabs me, and pulls me by my collar. We're in the middle of the dark woods before he pushes me down.

"I got you out of there. Who knew they leave the door unlocked? Give me some kindness, would ya?"

I stare up at him. I hear rustling leaves behind me and turn.

Is it a ghost? Is it my imagination? No. It's her.

I run up to her and squeeze her as tight as I can, just to make sure she's real. She hugs me back, nice and tight. If I could choose, I'd stay there forever, hugging my little sister.

I turn around and see the man slowly take off the mask.

"You." I say, giving him a stare through my dead eyes. His are more dead, if that is even possible.

"Me." He says.

I start to run towards him, but my sister grabs my arm.

"Why don't we talk?" She says.

Turns out, the man is my father. He took her when he heard that the plague was spreading. He tried to protect her. Of course, I didn't mention the fact that he didn't try to protect me. He put a fake body in the woods to trick them, and he came for me when he knew I wouldn't escape. I relax, swallow down some soft bread. it tastes like a cloud that fell from heaven. I pull them both into a hug.

I don't know what got into me, but I want something to hold. Something to be true. Everyone thought, still thinks, I'm guilty, but I haven't lost everyone. They're here. They're right here. And so am I. For once, my world is silent peace.