Dawn
by Lailah Fritz
Once in my life, everything made sense.
I had no fear of walking without a plan or destination. I was my own compass, holding hands with North, South, East, and West winds.
I walked inside strangers’ houses without invitation.
There was something in me that seemed to stop the voices of reason from speaking.
Nothing mattered, since knowledge wasn’t real. Only Me, Myself, and I knew Truth across the time and space continuum.
My conscience was on vacation indefinitely. Probably somewhere warm and tropical.
I kicked around the streets, danced up the trees, and ran underwater.
No one could tell me what to do. I was utterly and completely free to make my own choices, no second thought decisions.
My fingernails were black and white.
My hair, the color of lightning.
I collected seed pod swords, even though I was invincible.
I trusted my vision, so I punched the lenses out of my glasses.
The neighbors could sense my new power.
A ghost flickered flame, a floating lynx flew, eyes brighter than the sun itself roared at unheard pitches faster than sound.
But with every move I made, I knew I was being watched.
My sister appeared to me as a dog and asked for my help.
I knew she didn’t like her owners. Neither did I.
Hours spent poring over their written words and crafted letters, reading what wasn’t there, and highlighting the hidden messages so we could escape.
It was night, but not for sleeping.
I drew on the walls of the basement.
Stars mostly.
In every color I could find.
Again and again, the constellations I formed, both soothing and frantic in their repetition.
I sang to the people I loved in the shower, but the calls didn’t go through.
I pretended to pray, but really I just stared at my boobs in the mirror.
And I was right, one of them was still bigger than the other.
The remote control was missing when I left.
I picked a bouquet of goldenrod and traveled home.
“We expect great things from you,” a woman said to me.
None of it was real, says my mother.