Madura Muraleetharan (11) – STAFF REPORTER
“Hello?” The world holds still with her. Then she hears it, the beating on the other end. She puts her hand to her heart, and sure enough, it is in sync. She breathes for a minute, or at least she thinks she does, before slamming the phone back down. They couldn’t have known. Three cities, seven houses, and twenty different numbers later, they couldn’t have known. They do though. She looks out her window at the liquid blackness of the night. Not even a star pierces its light down. She shuts the curtains. She turns off the TV and the grey light of it that flickering around the room sinks away. She switches off the lamp and is plunged into the same darkness as outside. She knows what she’s doing is stupid. They know her number. They know where she lives. As if sitting and waiting will push them away.
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I think she knows that though. She knows it, and that’s why she sits and waits. She’s grown very tired, you know. This life of fox and rabbit doesn’t work for her. She doesn’t even bother crouching or hiding. She sits in conspicuous view on her sofa. Then she hears it. The tapping at the side of her house. She doesn’t move to hide. She doesn’t shiver. She moves her hand towards her heart and her body slumps with resignation. The tapping continues, traveling along her house without breaking its beat. It reaches her front door. She hears the knock and still does not move. So I knock again. I can hear her footsteps. She twists open the knob. When the door creaks open, I take in her face. She is tired, but not afraid. In the end, she doesn’t even scream.
