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Big Sounds Small Images

“Could you just say something?” I asked her blank face, “Anything,”

She did not stir. Not even a grunt in response. Her black wavy hair flowed across her pillow, unwashed for the past few days. I need to tell a nurse to give her a shower. That is, unless she could do it herself by tonight.

I sighed. I understand her reasons completely, but it hurts. She has no idea how much.

I reached across my little table and held her velvety red box of sewing needles and pins. I shook it loud enough for her to hear.

She said nothing. The only way to tell she wasn’t dead was the rise and fall of her chest.

I chased her around the house, using chairs and furniture to make sharp turns. I laughed with my eyes threatening with tears and my legs burning. I chased her long hair fanning out from behind her. Her favorite pair of jeans made it harder for her to jump over the now-overturned furniture.

When she stumbled, I slowed so that she could get back up before I got to her. When I finally did catch her, I wrapped both my arms around her and tickled her, trying to get the box from her hands. Her grip was tight, but I was stronger.

“Stop it!” She squealed, “It’s already all messed up!”

I did not let go despite her protest. I pried the little box from her hands and shook it above my head, jumping up and down so that she couldn’t reach it.

“Nuh-uh!” I had shouted at her laughing face, “Not until it’s all shaken up good!”

“Give it back,” She gasped between giggles, “I need to organize it all over again because of you! I hope you are happy!”

“I am, thank you very much,” I laughed back at her, who now jumped with me to get closer to the little box still in my hand.

“How is everything?” a nurse walked in and asked in a high-pitched voice. Almost nasal.

“She still hasn’t said a word,” I replied.

“I’m sure she’ll start talking soon,” She lied. It’s her job. I don’t blame her for it. I wanted to lie to myself too. I seem to lie to everyone but me. I think I may be able to be a good nurse one day.

I watched from my corner as the nurse of the day unloaded her wires and attached them to my darling’s fingers.

The nurse’s fingernails were well groomed, painted white and pink with glitter. I guess liars get paid a lot. That wouldn't hurt me too much at this point.

When the nurse was done reading whatever had popped up on her screen, she wrote something down on a pad of paper and walked out of the room, rolling her cart behind her. She did not smile goodbye. Not even the famous tight-lips-and-fake-eyes they usually give when they leave. I don't think I could do that look.

I wish I could ask what she had written down. Was my darling in peak condition? Or was she slowly dying, her heart rate going down a little each day?

After the nurse left, the room was completely silent. I raked my hand through my oily hair, only to get my fingers tangled. I think I need to take a shower.

But I didn’t. I just sat in my corner on the little chair they have for patient guests until I could not feel my butt anymore. By that time, the sun was starting to dim.

This hospital was nice compared to the ones we had been to before. It has a bed-cot-thing for me, as the patient’s only family, and curtains to cover up the big glass window by my bed-cot-thing. There was a television in the far corner, and a refrigerator under it. They feed her here, so I think the fridge is for me. Well, they don't feed her. They cook for her. I have to feed her. Which I'm fine with. No one else knows what she likes as well as I do.

The food they serve here is disgusting. More bland than the cereal mom used to buy for us with no sugar and no gluten. At least the color was not weird. I had ordered sweet potato for her once, and they gave us an unskinned yam in a container.

“The food is here,” I announced when someone knocked at the door.

Just a second after, a woman with a cart of food entered.

“Ostraya?” She asked.

“Thank you,” I nodded.

“I hope Ostraya feels better,” She whispered to me as she unloaded the containers of food onto Ostraya’s table.

“Me too,” I answered.

When the woman left, I opened each plastic container and put all the caps in a pile on the other table. There was a salad for us to share, potato wedges, soup, and a what-is-that-lump.

I peered closer to it and laughed, showing it to Ostraya’s blank face.

She did not laugh with me.

Even today, Ostraya does not laugh. The potato happened almost three days ago.

A small knock sounded on the door.

“Come in,” I said as yet another nurse walked in. She smiled at me, just as expected.

“Ostraya?” She asked.

I nodded.

“And you must be Miahky?”

I nodded again.

“Who are you to Ostraya?” She asked me. She was just full of questions, this one. Why couldn’t she just look at Ostraya’s records?

“I’m her brother,” I answered her anyway. Just to be polite. I didn't want to be 'that teenager'.

“And where are your parents?”

“I would rather not answer that question,”

The smile suddenly left her face. The difference it made was not very great.

“How far apart are you two?” She dared ask another question.

“I don’t want to talk,”

“Ok,” She nodded, “I can respect that,”

She sat down in one of the chairs across from me, smoothing her scrub pants. It was then that I realized she did not have a cart to check on Ostraya’s vitals.

“I beg your pardon, but who are you?” I hope this was not a social worker. And 'I beg your pardon'?

“My name is Magdalene,” She answered, “I’m this hospital’s main psychologist,”

“Oh,” Was all I could muster. Mom wanted me to see a shrink when I was younger 0r something, but I wasn't really interested. I had other things to worry about.

“I just wanted to check up on you, make sure you and Ostraya are okay,” She leaned in real close, like she did not want the air around us listening to what she had to say next, “I know that things like this are tough, especially on someone so young. It’s too much responsibility,”

“I can handle it,” I reassured her.

“Oh, I didn’t say you couldn’t,” She leaned away, relaxing so suddenly it startled me.

“I can take care of her,” I insisted again.

What if she calls DYFS or something?

“Have you both lived together all of your lives?” She continued the interrogation. She looks like and interrogator, too. Her hair is pulled into a bun so tight, she may have to have plastic surgery by next week. Her eyes were strikingly blue and her scrubs matched. She looks like she just walked off the set of a tv show.

“Not a day apart,”

“And you share a bond?”

“I love my sister more than anything,” That one might get my head on a platter.

“And do you fight a lot?”

I hope she didn't notice me wince.

“Hardly,” I lied. What pair of siblings don’t fight? The only way that is possible is if they don’t know the other exists.

She nodded like she had come to a conclusion. A strand of blonde came out of her bun. It seemed to irritate her a little, but she pushed it behind her ear.

“Is that all?” I asked.

“Yes,” She paused, “Yes, for now, I suppose,” She seemed a bit startled. Was it something I said? Next thing I know, the social workers and I will get into a fight. Ostraya will not do well in the system like this.

Magdalene left without saying a word. She just got up and walked out like she was in a daze. Maybe she was. Maybe Ostraya had woken up and hypnotized Magdalene from behind me so that I wouldn’t see her. Maybe when she was done, she fell back asleep. Maybe she’s just pretending to be asleep.

Maybe I need a coke.

“You have no right to come in here like that!” Ostraya yelled, spit flying.

I ignored her, and just continued packing her clothes into a duffel bag. Her screams in protest bounced off my back.

“Where do you think we’re going!”, “We have to stay here for when mom comes for us!”, “I am not some little kid to be passed around like this!”, and the like.

“We’re leaving tonight,” was all I said back.

“Why? Why do you feel like you can boss me around, Mr. Alpha Man? Why do you think you have the authority to be tossing us around like this? Is this because you're the older one?”

I said nothing. Half her closet was in the bag, and there was still room left for toiletries. I stormed into our bathroom, stuffing everything into the bag.

“Imagine mom walking into the house and wondering where we are? She’ll think we left her!”

That's it.

“She left us first!” I finally snapped.

For a second, I couldn’t breathe. Ostraya’s surprised face looked back at my burning eyes. The last time I saw her like this was the day she asked me when mom was coming back. I had to tell her the truth. We were ten. It’s been seven years.

“We need to leave this place,” I finally muttered when I gained my voice.

So we did.

I took a shower. The water took a while to get warm, not to mention the scalding hot I’m so used to. Nonetheless, the water was refreshing. It was like I did not see until I was under the water.

I used to feel the same way in a chlorinated pool. But no one has the money to pay for one, so I don't go. The ocean every once in a while is enough. I love it there, don't get me wrong, but there's just something missing.

Ostraya still sat in her bed the same way I left her.

The food eaten, and the containers in the garbage, I lowered her bed so she could lay down and sleep. Her eyes closed on their own. I wonder if she is aware of the fact that she was tired. I hope so.

“Ostraya?” A nurse popped her head through the door. I turned my head to tell her to come in, but she was already rolling her cart towards Ostraya’s bed.

“Anything different you want to let us know about?” She asked me, but did not look at me.

“Nothing,” I replied.

She nodded slowly, “Still not talking?”

“No,” I replied. Obviously.

She nodded again. She seemed irritated at my inability to cooperate. She must be getting fed plenty of money for this. I would imagine. Getting to work on a case like Ostraya's should pay well.

I watched her as she attached and reattached wires and things to Ostraya’s chest and legs, and read on the little screen what all the little moving lines and beeping circles told her.

“Thank you,” She chirped as she pulled together all of her wires, “You’ll see another nurse in 30 minutes,”

I nodded like I didn’t already know that. Where do these people get so many nurses from? They seem endless, like robots that some rich guy had fashioned just to make family mad and somehow populate the world with fake humans until there are no real ones left. Except for the ones laying in bed, watching.

I still have not gotten that coke.

“Miahky?” My sister looked up at me with her infamous grey eyes, “What are we going to do now?”

I thought silently, listening to the rain come down. I pretended it wasn't hitting my shoes. They would be soaked soon.

I did not know how to answer her question. A couple lies I could tell her rose to the back of my throat, but I held them all back. I could tell her we were on an adventure. I could say we had errands to run. I could say we were going camping for a few nights.

But adventures will end and she will start asking again. Or get bored. Errands don’t last forever, either. And camping is hard to fake when we have only two backpacks with meager supplies. And no money. Can't get too far without that.

“We’ll be gone awhile,” was all I finally said.

Her eyes clouded, nodding to herself. She seemed to understand.

“Miahky?” She asked again after a beat of silence.

“What is it?”

“We’re not coming back, are we?”

I did not look at her. It was pretty obvious we were not coming back. She just needed the words to be said.

We had found ourselves in an abandoned car wash, hiding from the rain. After hours of walking, our feet were sore. I had no map. It was amazing how I had dodged my sister’s questions until now. I don't think we can go on like this forever.

We had been stopped only once, by a police officer. Ostraya had no idea what we were doing, so I did the talking, pretending that she was mute. I told him we were walking home from a tutoring session. He believed me. The only thing he asked me was my age.

I told him the truth. We’re both ten.

I walked down the hall and into the children’s playroom. Since Ostraya is only seventeen, they still considered her a teenager, and therefore she belongs in peds.

The playroom has just about everything but kids. Books lined the far wall, along with pillows and soft-ish-but-old-looking beanbags. The other side had a long table low enough for a little one to sit on their knees and color. The cabinet by the table revealed plenty of cheap crayons and coloring books that looked used. The center had bins and boxes filled with toys.

I went to the very back, where there sat a tiny fridge on top of a tall-enough shelf so that the little ones could not reach it. I opened it, and it wasn’t full. I only took a couple cans of soda and two gelatin cups back to the room.

“Muahaha!” I yelled like a pirate as I dropped my loot in Ostraya’s lap, “I have found the thing called treasure-island-kids-playroom and stole all of their booty!”

She blinked.

My shoulders drooped, as did my smile.

“You need to drink,” I sighed. I opened a can and lifted it to her lips, and all she did was swallow.

She gasped a bit when she finished, and I laughed half-heartedly. She wasn’t completely lost.

I took a swig out of the can to finish it off, then threw the empty can into the garbage bag hanging under the bathroom sink.

“You need to go to the bathroom?” I asked her, even though I knew she would not reply.

I eyed the bag hanging from the side of her bed. There was only a little bit of fluid in it for today. Once she digests the coke, I won’t have to be as worried.

“Just drink it,” I prodded my sister.

She glanced at me uneasily.

From where we sat, we could see the entire pool party at play. This one was pretty cool, considering the fact that no one knows the kid who threw it. We sat on the concrete in front of their porch, the refreshment tables right behind us. The smell of food wafted well from here.

“It’s only soda,” I pleaded with her.

Her grey eyes only glanced from the can of soda to my face.

“It won’t kill you,”

Ostraya raised one eyebrow, a look I knew very well by now.

“Here,” I said, raising it to my lips and smiling at her like it was the best thing I had ever tasted, “See? No poison,”

She rolled her eyes, “That’s not what I’m worried about, idiot,”

“You love this idiot,”

She shook her head and laughed as I pushed the can closer to her face.

“You will regret not tasting it,” I laughed back.

“Fine," she snorted, "Just get the can out of my face” she grabbed the can and held it to her lips. Almost immediately, liquid amber poured down her face.

She sputtered, her face becoming fave shades darker in a second.

“Miahky!” She coughed and gagged at the same time.

Her coughing fit ceased a bit when I pat her back, but her entire face still flashed with some leftover red blotchiness in it.

“Now wasn’t that fun?” I asked her jokingly.

“Unforgettable,”

Ostraya blinked. Still no words. She looks so different now. Somehow her hair lost it’s shine and so did her eyes. I couldn’t call her Sparkle Girl anymore. It just wouldn’t make sense.

Sparkle Girl was a nickname I gave her back in fifth grade. She became attached to this one shirt that said "Sparkle Girl" in glittery letters on the front. I still make fun of her every once in a while. Well, I guess I don't anymore.

I shouldn’t be talking. People have mistaken me to be her father. I myself have not shaved since we last got here two weeks ago, and there are long stretches between showers.

Besides that, Ostraya and I look nothing alike. All of our lives, there have been people who didn’t believe me what I told them we were twins.

Her grey eyes completely contradict my light brown. And while her hair is black and wavy, mine is light brown and completely straight.

I look like my mother. I can only assume Ostraya is like our father. Hopefully we are nothing like our parents from the inside. I don’t want to do to any kid what our parents did to us.

A light knock sounded on the door.

“Come in,” I rasped. I cleared my throat as another nurse wheeled her cart in.

Thirty minutes already? It seemed like only five minutes ago I had finished that coke.

I watched again as this nurse fumbled with the wires. When she finally got the finger-thing attached to my sister, she sighed.

“The last nurse attached this to the cart wrong,” She shook her head.

I really did not think she needed to explain why she had trouble attaching the wires. This woman was too nervous. She tapped her polished nails against the cart as she read the little beeping things and then packed up.

“Thank you,” I called as she left. She didn’t say anything back. I refrained from cursing out loud. Maybe I should do that every time a nurse leaves. I did that at the last place, just because I had nothing else to do. No one found out.

Slow music played from Ostraya’s phone. A doctor who came in told me the silence wasn’t good for her. Ostraya’s phone already had all of her favorite songs on it, so that’s what I used.

Ostraya has just been showered, her dark hair wrapped tightly in a pink towel. The disney movie we used to watch over and over when we were little played on the little telly. I don't remember what it was called. I muted it around two hours ago. It’s still going, probably replaying every time it ends.

Someone knocked at the door, and I opened it for them to come in.

“Hi,” she chirped, “Ostraya?” She asked, pronouncing her name wrong.

I nodded anyway.

“I’m just going to get her vitals and check up on her,” She smiled the infamous tight lipped bird-like smile.

So she did. She even had the nerve to hum along to the music playing from Ostraya’s phone. As far as I could tell, she got half of the notes wrong. Ostraya was always better at that stuff. I can't listen to the radio in peace with her.

When she left, the door slammed, causing Ostraya to blink a little faster. Some sort of piano melody played now. It was probably flawless.

When that song ended, there was a pause. That pause was all it took for me to go insane. I rattled off every insult and every curse I could, until I an out of breath completely.

My tongue tickled and my lips felt itchy, but my lungs felt like they could actually breathe for once. My eyes clouded, and I leaned my head back and smiled, closing my eyes.

That smile turned into a giggle, which turned into a laugh, which soon became hysteria. Noise rattled off my lips and pushed through my throat even though there was no wind to help me. My laughter filled the air with something less than happiness.

This laughter was not supposed to exist. Sound like this was hollow, and made my stomach hurt. This laughter made me hurt all over, but I couldn’t stop. My stomach screamed. My ribs pinched. My throat coughed in protest but I couldn’t stop.

I laughed and I laughed and I laughed. I was on the floor, my arms wrapped around my waist and squeezed tight.

It was just so funny the way this all came down. Why would something like this happen to good people, while good things are given to people who don’t do anything to deserve it? After all we have done, after all the good, this was how we were repaid. My parents, those godforsaken devils, got what they wanted. They did whatever they wanted. Loved no one. Had kids accidentally and got rid of them just as fast. They deserved the personality disorders and hospital bills they can't pay off. Ostraya didn't deserve any of this. I didn't deserve any of this. Then there are the nurses whose biggest problems seem to be tangled wires. No one actually cared. I was just a kid trying to take care of his sick sister, the only good thing in his life. And that one thing was sick and broken. She couldn't even smile anymore.

So I laughed. And laughed. I laughed until I could no longer feel the pressure of my lungs and the tightness of my chest. I laughed even in my dreams, even after my eyes closed without my consent and my head grew heavy.

“You want another can?” I asked Ostraya’s still face, “I can arrange that,” I said like as if she had answered.

I opened another can of coke, then decided I shouldn’t give that to her in case she chokes. Instead, I gave her a ginger ale. That was all she lived on before. That, and the occasional bout of water. She used to like tea, but that was luxury. You needed to really sit down in a café or something to drink that.

I let her take a few sips, then took the can away from her so she could catch her breath. I kept on doing this until the can was empty. At the last hospital, someone had caught me making her chug the whole can at once. That person had stopped me and told me to do it this way instead.

I then checked her urinal bag and found that it had retained more fluid, but just a little. It was good enough.

I checked the clock, and noted that it was only one in the afternoon. Maybe later I will stop downstairs to get a book on whatever it is Ostraya is going through. Maybe I should ask a doctor about that. Maybe I should check the tag hanging off of her bed.

I did, but the tag said nothing of her diagnosis. I sighed, and let the tag swing back and forth. I watched it swing until it stopped because it hit one of the bars on my sister’s bed.

This bed was like a prison. Bars on all sides, and the biggest sides had bars that get longer so that the prisoner inside had no chance of getting out.

I tried it once. It wasn’t fun.

“What are you doing?” Ostraya asked me without emotion in her voice.

“Watch,” I answered.

I let go of her arm, and let her hold on to the bar on the wall. We were out on a walk because the doctor told us to. She was gown to grace her slender shoulders. She looked frail, but I wanted to make her laugh. So she wouldn't look - you know - sick. The doctor said it was good for her.

I had other plans.

I climbed up onto one of the empty beds lining the other side of the hallway and pretended to be dead. Nothing from Ostraya. Just her usual monotonous expression. I even twitched and spazzed a few times, but she made no sound of amusement.

Drat. That used to work every time.

I looked over at her to see that she was still watching me. Her black hair was up to her knees, and I had secret plans of cutting it up to her shoulders. When she wakes up from whatever she’s in, I expect her to me amusingly angry with me.

“Can we go back to the room now?” She asked.

“Nope,” I replied and swung the bars on the sides of the bed up one at a time.

They closed me in the bed, and reminded me of how little space I had in here. As a little kid, I used to imagine myself in one of these things, and then imagine myself in it as a spaceship of many kinds. If this were a spaceship, I would fly away from here and take the real Ostraya with me, leaving this shell behind.

“I’m hungry,” She said again, awakening me from my state.

“Ok, then,” I replied like a little kid leaving the playground, “Let’s go order food,”

I tried the lever that made the bars go down, but they would not budge. I tried then forcing them down, but they were stubborn. Ostraya did nothing to help me as I rattled the bars like a prisoner.

“I’m hungry,” my sister repeated monotonously.

“I know, I know,” I reassured, “Just a second, I need to get out,”

I tried the lever again, but still, nothing happened. I tried swinging my legs over, and they stayed with my knees bent over the top of the bars.

“Wonderful,” I muttered, “absolutely fantabulous,”

I let my legs back onto the bed, and stopped to think of other ways to get out.

It was Ostraya’s doctor who found us, escorted Ostraya to bed, and told me to stand up and just swing my legs over.

Oh.

Ostraya stared at me. I stared back. She blinked. So did I. Her hair fell off her face. Mine didn’t.

“Talk,” I ordered, “now before I go insane,”

She stared.

“I won’t wait forever,”

Blink.

“Speak,”

More staring.

“Even a sound would be fine,”

Ostraya was nothing if not stubborn. If anything, she was staying silent and enduring this just because I asked her to stop and she was mad at me.

She’s mad at me. This is my fault.

I shook my head. No - these thoughts were exactly what Ostraya told me not to think. It’s never my fault.

It wasn’t my fault we grew up without a dad. It wasn’t my fault mom left. It wasn’t my fault we had no money. It wasn’t my fault Ostraya couldn’t talk or do anything on her own anymore. It wasn’t my fault we’re broken. It wasn’t my fault we never got to have real childhoods. None of it. Well, not really.

I was born, and so dad left. I was a burden, so mom left. I spent the money, so we didn’t have any. I wasn’t supportive, so Ostraya shut down. I shattered the glass so now we’re broken. I never let us be kids, so we didn’t have a childhood.

No. It wasn’t my fault. I couldn’t help it.

I raked my hand through my hair and let my head fall to rest on Ostraya’s stomach. I could hear her breathe from here. It was completely even, completely monotonous. There was nothing interesting about the way she breathed now. She didn’t even snore anymore.

“Please,” I whispered to the wall.

No response.

“I could let you go,” I paused, stepping into unknown territory. It scared me. I took a few deep breaths, gulped, and fought the tears that rose to my eyes.

Still she said nothing. I fancied her breath hiccuped a little.

“You could walk away, and get your own place, maybe even go back to school,” I started again, saying everything slowly, like wading through water up to my chin “and leave me," I gulped "You could leave this baggage and start again,” Now the tears flowed freely from my eyes, “without me,”

The tears were hot against my cheeks, and a spot on her blanket soaked. I sniffled a bit, and looked up at her. She stared straight ahead, but her eyes were red.

I stood, and looked at her more closely. Her red rimmed eyes matched her gaping mouth and flushed cheeks.

“Ostraya,” I whispered, my lips quivering and the tears starting again, “look at me,”

Her lip quivered, and her head raised a bit to hold in a shuddering breath. Her mouth opened and closed. Another shuddering breath. A single tear slid down her porcelain face.

I leaned in to kiss her forehead, her skin warm. I gripped the rail along her bed to tight my knuckles started to hurt.

“Please,” I prodded. I highly doubt she heard me anymore. I was afraid I had said all I could and that she was broken forever now. I tried to make my breath as quiet as possible, in case the sound will make the air around us shatter and she will go back to the way she was before.

She blinked, and swallowed, her mouth still open. When she opened her eyes, they looked right at me.

“Ostraya,” I whispered excitedly. She breathed another shuddering breath.

“You two are all I have left,” Was all she said.

That was it? She called me from my room into the living room to lecture me? She was probably drunk. When is she not drunk?

I stood in front of her for a second, not knowing what to say next. She puffed a ring of smoke from her cigarette in my face. I tried not to flinch.

Finally, she said, “Promise me, boy,” She leaned in close to my face, her cigarette still in her mouth, “that you will never ever leave me to live in some hospital for the old and withered,” She said the last few words slowly and low, almost like a hiss. Dangerously low, as a matter of fact. Scary slow.

She wore her bartending uniform, the buttons not done all the way up like they should be. Her brown hair was a mess from all the times she's dyed and curled it. Old makeup was smeared around her eyes. She wore nothing on her lips like she would have if she were planning on actually going to work.

I nodded.

“Your word, Miahky,” She demanded, her voice back to normal. Her face was still so close to mine she could bite me.

“I won’t leave you,”

She suddenly relaxed back into her couch, so fast it almost startled me.

“Good boy,” She whispered.

A single slow tear rolled down her face.

“Momma?” I asked.

“What is it, Miahky?”

I hesitated, “Whe-when is Ostraya allowed to come back inside?”

“When she learns her lesson,”

I nodded and looked down at my feet, trying hard not to cry in front of mother.

“Men don’t cry,” She said harshly, “You won’t ever get married if you cry,”

I nodded.

“And one more thing,” She said as she stood up.

When she did, her towering body led me toward the kitchen window. Our kitchen was dirty, but some of the cabinets had enough food for the week and the fridge smelled funny.

Her grip found my elbow as she forced me to look out the window. Her bony fingers held me too tight. My elbow found itself twisted in an uncomfortable position.

“Can you see anything?” She asked me and bent down so that her eyes met mine. We both stared out the window. My heart quickened.

“No - it’s too dark,”

“Look again,” She ordered.

“It’s raining,” I tried again.

“That’s right,”

“It’s raining hard,”

She nodded, her eyes closing and opening like this was a script.

Realization struck.

“But Ostraya is out there!” I gasped.

“That’s right,” She nodded like we were only speaking of a dog we only found yesterday.

“And the shed is locked,” I locked it myself.

“Good boy,” She smiled, “And if you fail to do exactly what I tell you - just like Ostraya did - you will be out there just the same way,”

And with that being said, she got up and left Ostraya stranded outside in the rain. I could not help but stand there for a few minutes trying to make out her small figure. I couldn’t find her.

“Go to bed,” Mother finally ordered from her place on the couch.

My anger flashed. Ostraya would be sick! All she did was smile at mother's contorted angry face.

I obeyed. What else could I have done? The only other thing to do was go into drastic measures.

We were only ten.

Ostraya has not said a word since. Not a giggle, or a note. Not since yesterday’s incident. I decided it was best I didn’t say anything happened to any of the medical personnel here.

But still, her eyes followed me around the room. For now, that was enough.

Knock, knock.

“Come in,”

The nurse gave a smile, and loaded her stuff into Ostraya. The beeping things did their duty. The nurse left, saying goodbye as she closed the door.

Ostraya looked at her the whole time with frightened eyes. When the nurse left she looked at me. It took me a few seconds to realize what she wanted.

“You are in the hospital,” I explained, “A nurse will be coming around every half hour to check on you, that’s all,” I wanted to add something humorous, but I was afraid I would break her. And I was at a loss for funny, which didn't happen to often.

She looked around her, seeming to take in the whole room. She must have seen the same thing I do, because there was a strange amusement in her eyes.

“Want coke?” I asked, turning toward the fridge.

Her eyes widened.

“I thought so,” I laughed, getting a sprite instead.

I helped her drink, then put the rest of the can on her table. She watched me not gulp down the rest.

“I’m not thirsty,” I explained.

She did not relax. For the first time, I noticed that there was a tension in her shoulders. Then I realized that it was there before she broke. For one traitorous second, I wondered if she was better off broken.

"I could get you a wheelchair,” I offered, “we could go visit people, the library, or just walk around,”

She blinked.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then,”

She watched me put on my shoes, deliberately taking my time. It took me a few minutes just to find them. When I did, they were hiding under Ostraya’s bed. It was like they did not want to leave either.

“I’ll be back with a wheelchair,” I told her as I opened the door.

I looked at her a second, then slowly closed the door behind me. Her gaze tore at me even from behind the closed door. What if that psychiatrist comes while I’m gone?

I opened the door again, “You need anything?”

She blinked. It was like she had not even turned her head.

“Ok, then,” I said as I left.

The hallway was more bleak than the room. At least the room had some sun in it. This place looks like a real hospital. The kind people die in. The walls were white, and every few feet stands some sort of human being. Whether that is a doctor, nurse, patient, someone sobbing, or looking around like someone might catch them with the queen's crown.

I stayed there for a few seconds, leaning my back against the door. My head thumped against it a little awkwardly, and I flinched. I stuffed my hands ino my jean pockets, pursing my lips as a nurse I barely recognized glanced at me on her way into the room next door.

Maybe I shouldn’t go at all. Maybe I’ll just stay here. Breathe a little.

But I should go get a wheelchair. Let her see the world a little.

So I left.

Every two feet is a door. I found two babies, one in which had more tubes than my sister at the last hospital, a small boy, an older girl, and a teen not too much younger-looking than Ostraya. I wonder if they were here for reasons like Ostraya. Did they have brothers looking after them?

I walked down one hall and turned into another. More doors. These were metal, and sealed off from any onlookers. There were no windows. I could not tell who was in them, but in the last one, someone was crying. There were locks on the doors, sealed tight so that no whispers of murder could escape. This was quarantine, the place where they have the once-you-are-in-there-is-no-coming-out policy.

I rounded the next corner, walked through a door and into a larger space filled with nurses and computers and beeping things. I could see down one hallway, where the wall was lined with beds and wheelchairs.

I walked over to one, and unlocked it. It immediately unfolded it’s wheels so that I could roll it into our room.

When I did, the door was open.

I stopped, and decided not to be angry. I did not want to scare Ostraya back to sleep. And if it were to be a social worker, it would not be a great first impression.

I rolled in with a wheelchair and a smile plastered across my face. Ostraya was on the bed, and a nurse stood beside her, reading the beeping monitor.

I let out a breath I did not know I was holding. It’s only the nurse. I looked up at the clock, which read only one thirty. She’s on time. And I spent thirty minutes looking for one wheelchair. Next time, I’ll ask someone to get it instead.

“Her eyes are responsive,” The nurse told me as I wheeled the wheelchair over to Ostraya’s bed.

“Her gaze has been following me all day,” I replied.

“This is progress,” She said, like as if I needed telling.

I nodded anyway. Smiled. God, I’m becoming like them. Fake.

This was not progress. Progress was when she cried the other day. She may not even remember who I am for all I know.

The nurse finally left. Ostraya’s gaze remained on the door even after it shut.

I sank into my chair, rubbing my temples with my huge fingers. The clock ticked. The refrigerator randomly whirred to life. Ostraya swallowed. I swallowed.

I really need a break. Maybe I’ll go to the Bahamas for a week. Ostraya will be in a nice swimsuit and she’ll splash in the water the way she used to when we were little. Whenever a wave would come, she’d close her nose with her dainty fingers and go under. I would jump right over and ambush her from the other side. She would pretend to be surprised every time.

I opened my eyes. Ostraya was still staring at the door.

“Let’s go for a walk,”

“We have to go outside!” Ostraya tugged my arm, waking me.

“What?”

“Outside!” She said again, pulling me off the couch, “There’s someone outside!”

I jumped right up at her words, not bothering to make sure my blankets were actually on the mattress. I made a run toward the stairs. There’s someone outside, I could hear them shouting.

I ran down the stairs, starting to hear the commotion outside. Someone talking in a frazzled voice. My neighbor wailing. I practically hopped into the kitchen, where the window was. Peeking through the blinds was the way I saw everything that went down in this neighborhood. From our window, we could see clearly down the street.

Today, the street was clogged with police cars and even a fire engine.

Usually, I would have been excited to see a fire truck. Ostraya would not have come up here to get me, she would have climbed right in.

Usually.

That all depended on who was in shackles. There, right in the front yard, was my mother writhing against the arms of a policewoman with handcuffs in her hand.

“Hey!” I immediately yelled, which surprised me.

I ran past Ostraya, who was standing helpless in the hallway, and out the door. I yanked it open and didn’t even bother closing it, exposing Ostraya to the cold air.

I didn’t care about the cold biting at my exposed flesh. Not at all. Instead, I focused my attention on the cop who was holding my mother.

“Let go of her!” I yelled and tugged at her arm.

“Get back inside,” My mother rasped back, “Go get your sister and go to your room,”

I ignored her, choosing instead to tug against my mother’s ragged sweater. I thought that if she felt my hands, she would want to go back home and everything would be okay.

Another cop grasped my wrists and tugged me so I would let go. I was no match, no matter how many times I kicked and screamed. I scrunched my eyes tight as I was finally carried back into our house.

I never got to see the car drive away with my mother inside.

That was the day I realized we had to go. Before the cops came back for us. Before the system took over our identities and ransacked our brains with the hunt for a family that never existed.

We were only ten.

We made it as far as the kid’s room. Which, by the way, was only down the hall. You could see it if you stuck your head out the door of our room.

Baby steps. I didn’t want to scare her into going back in. In what? Where was in? Was it safe there? Did she like it there?

Know what? I haven’t eaten in a while.

“This is exhibit A” I told her as I wheeled her in, “Here you can see the ancient literature,” I gestured to the children’s books, “The entertainment,” I pointed at a half-open closet with movies inside, “And the - play area,” For lack of a better word.

Her eyes landed on everything I mentioned as I mentioned it, This is good. She’s listening. Tomorrow, I’ll try to feed her something.

But maybe I’m getting ahead of myself.