The Fragments Of Maki

​The memory is small, a jagged shard of glass in my mind, but I recall the date.

​I woke in the heavy, humid dark. The world was nothing but the rhythmic sawing of crickets and the frantic chirping of night bugs. Why was I awake so late? Perhaps I was simply afraid of the sun coming back up. Light always brought eyes, and eyes brought expectations. I squeezed my eyelids shut, trying to sink back into the shadows.

​Crack.

​The floorboards groaned. I shot up from my mat, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I didn’t brush the straw from my hair; I didn’t move at all. I knew the rules: stay silent. I was being tested. The footsteps drew closer, measuring my breath.

​There is a gap. A hole in the world where the next few hours should be.

​When the world returned, the sun was bleeding through the back window. My hands were submerged in a wash bin—a sink, I know now. My jaw ached. I could feel a baby tooth wobbling, a dull, pulsing pain, but I didn’t dare wince. The last time I whimpered was the last time I was allowed to eat. I just needed to survive one more day.

​“Where is the food?”

​The voice shocked me. It wasn’t the Lady of the House. I kept scrubbing, my knuckles raw. I never saw the other children; I wasn’t sure they actually existed until that moment.

​“Hey! I said, where is the FOOD!”

​I turned. The youngest of the three stood there, eyes sharp and impatient. I tried to speak, but my throat was a rusted gate; I hadn’t used my voice since the day I was stationed here. I simply pointed a shaking finger at the fridge.

​He smirked, grabbed the plate that was meant to be my only meal for the day, and left. I stood in the silence, shaking so hard the china rattled. I waited for the grandfather clock to strike, signaling the next chore, the next cycle of the ghost life I led.

The Eve of the Incident

​It was the day I finally became free from the “Slavery.” I was an adult by then, though I felt like a collection of bruises held together by sheer will. I had a few crumpled bills—my entire world—clutched in my palm.

​“Do you want the keys now, or when you get back?”

​I flinched, my eyes darting automatically to his shoes. It was an impulse, a survival instinct I couldn’t shed. He wasn’t a Master. He wasn’t an Owner. He was one of the Creatures—beings so powerful I would have worshipped them if they had permitted it. They were the ones who had pulled me from the dark.

​“Maki,” he said softly, stepping toward me. “You don’t have to do this alone.”

​My body began to tremor. The proximity of his power, his otherness, made my skin prickle. He saw the fear and stopped. He understood what the House had done to me.

​“Please... contact us when you get there,” he whispered.

​I forced my neck to move, looking up to meet his gaze for the first time. I smiled—a stiff, unfamiliar movement—and nodded. I walked out the door and into a world that didn’t have a Master.

​130 Days Later

​I count the days because the months are still a mystery to me. Education is a slow climb.

​“Maki?”

​A face blurred into focus. I was crying.

​“Yes?” I croaked.

​“You were crying again. Are you okay?”

​I looked at the monitor, the bright glow stinging my eyes. “Finished,” I said. It was the only word that mattered. The work was done. the debt was paid.

​“Do you have more to study?” she asked kindly.​I shook my head and packed my bag. As I walked toward the exit, her voice followed me: “Have a great evening!”

​I stepped out into the cool air. I didn’t have to hide from the sun anymore, but the silence of the night still felt more like home than the day ever would.