Chapter 4
The torn, unclear and musky brown letter read….
Silence is deafening. I cannot begin to remember the last
time our house was this still and quiet. Sapphire had ensured that laughter and
mischief always filled the four corners of our house. Dad would always be
cuddled on his antique chair in this library where I am trapped in, reading
from these very same books that now surrounds me like a fort. He loved reading
when even the night had fell asleep and he would make a noise by rocking his
antique chair back and forth until even the wood on the floor would beg him to
stop. His antique chair which I am now perched
on. I won’t rock it for the fear of being heard. I will not let tears escape my
swollen eyelids nor will I make any type of noise to alert him to the life that
still burns within me. However I long for some form of noise. I yearn for any form
of noise in this dead dooming dullness of the night. Even the sound of their
guns targeting an innocent, preying on his or her helplessness would be
appreciated on this painstakingly long night. My ears
were craving the sound of the ticking of the clock…. Tick tock, tick tock …. I’m
waiting to die. When will he come and
end my torture? When can I be reunited with the rest of my family? In a matter
of a few minutes the souls of my home were all wiped out. Before they had a
chance to plea for a chance to live! Why did he spare me? Will I be a slave to
the country of Rose? I would rather end my suffering by a cowardly suicide than
allowing myself to be subjected to the sins of slavery. I hear footsteps on the
staircase. He is approaching. My end is near…..or so I hope.
By three fifteen in the morning I knew that
even sleep would escape my eyelids if I did not put those letters down and make
way to my bed where I would be safe from everything but the sounds of the
thunder. I would go to bed with a prayer for those who were ever caught in crutches
of war. I would sleep with the hope that Clarity Wintermoore had found a way to
escape from the dreaded “He”. As much as I knew hope heals wounds, I also knew
that I would probably lose all hope in humanity by the time I reached the next
letter. I let the morbid thoughts slide from my memory and closed my eyes to a
dream in which I stood in a sparkling satin red dress in a garden full of
delicious smelling red roses. The hidden meanings behind dreams that you
remember when you awake sometimes has a way of irritating one’s mind. Needless
to say my dream of the garden of roses nagged my mind throughout the day.
Mundane daily routine had me make my way from Journalism class to communications
class that troubling Tuesday afternoon.
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