Chapter Two: Aleyna

Chapter 2

“Aleyna?" God, why am I so tired of that name? I jump up, and throw my book, Charlotte’s Web, in the trapdoor among my wooden planks floor, and jump on the trapdoor right before she comes in. I don’t think Mother sees it in time to see what was inside. “You’ve been up here all day," she says. “I intended that," I snap. Even though I didn’t. It’s just so hard not to get trapped in a good book. Of course, I have to hide the books from her. She thinks I shouldn’t be learning how to read, instead, learning how to sew. “Why are you in such a bad mood?" Her voice softens, and she sits on the edge of my bed. “I dunno," I say. It’s always the answer when you don’t want to talk anymore. But she presses on. “But you have to have a reason for taking a super long time with your chores, staying in your room all day, and now snapping at me!" She insists. “Was it me? I’m sorry if it was me, honey. Don’t take anything personally. Everything is my fault.” “There isn’t a reason," I say, hoping to give her the idea that I do not want to talk about it right now. She gets the memo. “Alright then.” She sighs, and before leaving, adds, “Dinner is in five.” I turn my head as she starts slowly walking out of my room. I gaze at my pink sheets, my blue walls, and my white pillows. My wood dresser and wardrobe, and my porcelain animals- I hear the loudest and most ear-piercing scream that racks my brain and drills through my ears. I cover my head, and there’s a huge crash. Followed by more booming thuds on the floor that rattle the whole house. And then I whip my head around to see fresh blood glistening on the latch of my trapdoor. When was it up? Wait. Mother. I add my scream to hers. I know I should’ve run down to save her, but I freeze like deer in the headlights. I hear our Yorkie Terrier dog, Chestnut, running around the house barking. I can hear Lrya crying, and running out of her room shouting, “Daddy! Lily! Jacob! Come quick!” There’s crying and screaming and thumping. My whole body shakes as I hear the door open again, and more gasping and crying. “Daddy is she dead?!” “What happened?" “We gotta get her to the hospital," “….call 919…” It’s almost as if I can’t physically move. The world blurs in and out like flashing lights. It’s either my bedroom spinning, or I’m spinning. I hear the wail of sirens. Screaming, and banging of doors. Then, everything is quiet. While I try to process what is happening, a though bubbles through my mind and makes me tremble. It’s all my fault. I slide down to the floor, and stare at the blood stain on the hatch, and on the floor. This is all my fault… It’s all my fault… If I hadn’t been reading, and I hadn’t forgotten to close it all the way, she never would have tripped over it. If I didn’t disobey her rules, none of this would have happened. If I put in some effort to be the child she wants me to be, this wouldn’t have happened. None of this. And if she dies, I didn’t get to say my last goodbye.