A Short Love Story:
(exercising the freedom to write creatively in my class abroad ❤)
A Break of Silence
Mr. Vichoff asked our third-grade class “What makes you happiest?”
I shot up from my seat and shouted, “Playing in the sandbox in my backyard.” “How does that make you feel?” Mrs. Anderson said.
“Free” I replied.
…
28 days later an unexpected terror swept across the city of Ginstin and I was not permitted to question this decision even though I felt a strong urge to. Mama just told me that the world thought we were bad, really bad. No one told me what made us bad, I guess we just were. I don’t know how long I must hide for. There is no sandbox insight and that hurts my heart. We took cover inside an abandoned attic of an extremely rich family who was torn out of their home just a few days before.
All I have is my journal, a box of photos from when I was younger, and a window about the size of my hand. Sunlight is very scarce, and food delivery is given once a week by Dad who lives underground by a river nearby. I am hungry, but Mama says there’s worse that could be happening. I don’t know what she means by that. I never thought I would say this, but I miss school, my classmates, and my teacher.
Sometimes I stare out my window thinking about the green leaves swaying on the trees, and the coarse sand that would get stuck under my fingernails in my favorite sandbox at home. Weeks passed and I missed the feeling of being free. One day, when Mama said it was okay, I peeked out through the window and saw a blue sky. From my window, I noticed another window, and then I noticed a face, a familiar face. I spot Gray, my third-grade desk mate who is also like me.
“Is that Gray?” I thought to myself, “It can’t be.”
But we both studied each other’s faces in awe because we were baffled by our sight.
I noticed Gray was in a different situation than me only because he was alone and put to work during the day as the town’s servant. His physical traits masked his identity for the protection of his life. Since his window was bigger than mine, he would try to communicate with me. He would show me his deck of playing cards, and together we were able to create a silent and secret language. At the end of each day, Gray would show cards and I would nod if the card resonated with my emotions. A queen of hearts depicted that today was a good day and I would do a thumbs up with an innocent smile. Whereas a jack of spades showed I was sad. Our communication was basic therefore, we could not divulge our feelings deeply. All I could really is portray is my facial expressions.
“I really like Gray. He is kind and shows me flowers he gets from the outside world. They aren’t vibrant flowers like they used to be. Seeing any color though makes me happy. I hope one day we can play in my favorite sandbox with vibrant flowers surrounding us” I wrote in my journal.
With limitations to our dialogue, we could both see the same view from our windows; the city of Ginstin was demolished. I saw blackness, smoke, and blood. Tears would stroll down my face
every time I looked out. People were murdered in the streets and taken away in trucks. It made me nauseous to look out. My pretty blue skies turned into a rotten grey.
One day when I looked out my window, I saw too much in the streets. I decided to close my teary eyes for the rest of the day and hold Mama’s hand. Just because I decided to not be as vigilant, my entire life came shattering down. On this particular and fateful day, Gray saw the bad people enter my home. I was not at my window.
“BOOM, BOOM, BOOM” I heard, as I was holding Mama’s sweaty palm. Someone must have seen me through the window. With pain, sweat, and tears running all over my body, they found us. These gigantic men dressed in all black with masks covering their faces took my journal and realized I was communicating with Gray, the boy next door. They realized he was not who he said he was.
I was violently thrown into a truck and could feel blood covering my eyes. Tears and blood don’t make a fun combination. I knew I was on the way to some horrible place filled with horrible people and horrible living conditions. I woke up when we arrived. I was immediately put to work for these men. We were not allowed to speak, only act, and disobeying would result in immediate death. Day after day, there were bodies piled up going into chambers to be burned. I missed Gray, praying to God he was somewhere out there.
I got up one morning weeks later and was on my way to perform a task these men requested for their morning routine. Out of the corner of her eye, I saw a familiar face, but I knew I couldn’t express any outward feelings, or it could put me in harm’s way. I continued my way to work. After a long day of doing the unfathomable, I went to wash up. Standing next to me was Gray.
For the first time in 101 days, I spoke. My voice was unfamiliar to me. “Gray?” I whispered while looking at the cement floor.
Gray turned his head, “Rue?”
I kept my eyes glued to the floor. Slowly, I tilted my head up and back down to give him the signal that it was me. I nonchalantly watched his hand tiptoe over to mine while my feet were anchored into the ground. Out of his pocket, I noticed an outline of a miniature rectangle. It was a queen of hearts, and I knew that card was keeping his faith in finding our way back together. When our flesh touched, we still did not move. We held hands till it was time to return to the bunkers. I learned that actions are more powerful than words.
Xoxo,
Chelsey Grace Jacobs #W2W
