Imprisoned

Escape

My room is my safe haven. It is the only place in which I feel I can be myself. But I am the only one allowed in my room. The caretakers and Mother Priscilla have long since stopped trying to talk to me. In fact, none of them have stepped foot on the third floor in months.

I like to think of the third floor as my own because my room is the only one that is really used up here. All of the others are full of forgotten mementos catching dust and fading in the sun. It isn't enough. I want more than my bedroom. I want more than just a pretty view.

The days blend together as I begin to care less and less about what goes on inside of these walls. I have withdrawn even farther from the people here. In fact, I do not even come down for meals other than when I get ravenous. My mind is consumed with the sole thought of escape. I have imagined many scenarios about how exactly I'm going to go about it, but none of them seem plausible. There are caretakers roaming the halls at all hours, whether it be night or day. The only place that isn't under constant surveillance is the back yard. But even that has its own defense- it is surrounded by a wall, which separates Anchorage from the wood.

My only means of escape is to somehow scale the wall without being seen, and the only time I can do that is in the dead of night.

I begin to watch, after I realize what must happen. I watch the tendencies of the workers. I watch where everybody goes at what time. Most of all, I watch who is in the yard when.

From 11:25 until 1:30 the backyard is absolutely clear. Nobody goes outside during lunch hours. But right when lunch ends, the little kids like to play. It is my only window of time to drop off supplies before I run.

As I pack my bag it dawns on me that I've only been given what I need to survive in Anchorage, not the forest. In fact, I know not what I need for the days ahead of me. So, I gather items that are both light and durable and will help me against the elements. I do not plan on wandering long, so I make sure not to over pack. The only things I truly need are warm clothes, a raincoat, boots, food, and some of my paintings and supplies.

The knapsack lies in the corner of my room judging me and taunting me for days. It knows I am not ready. But when will I ever be? I've never stayed anywhere except Anchorage, and I've only been in the real world on rare occasions when we are taken to restaurants.

Multiple times I have contemplated staying and waiting until my eighteenth birthday to leave, but deep down I know that I cannot handle being ignored for much longer.

Though the scent of food is tantalizing, I slink past the dining hall and into the backyard. It smells like damp earth and growth, however it looks like a picture book. All things that do not fit the pattern have been either killed or thrown away. That doesn't stop the scent of the forest from permeating the yard. It has seeped through the stone wall and twisted into the open windows of the forgetful. The forest can be hidden, but never kept out. It is always there, whispering and singing and dancing as though it is the most beautiful thing. I am hypnotized by it, drawn in yet held back. For the closest I have ever been was when I found a hole in the wall and reached through. I was yanked back by one of the caretakers that feared for my safety before I could do anything more than put my arm past the wall.

We are fed stories of evil things that lurk and prowl at night, and children that have been lost in the woods. Everyone seems to eat up these tales and ignore the beauty of the land beyond the stone wall. They focus on the bad rather than the good and whisper about the ghosts that haunt the trees. I have never bought into these lies, and I disregard every little rumor that passes poisoned lips. The girls speak of nothing but gossip and lies and infect everyone with the drama that comes with pretense.

I continue my walk into the darkest corner of the yard, where the hole in the wall still remains, and slide my backpack through it. I am sure, as it lands with a muted thump, that a thick carpet of leaves protects the contents from harm and will hopefully do the same for me when I leave.

I cannot go now because there is a headcount after the meal, which will not give me enough time to begin my journey without being caught.