I'm bowing my head, trying to block the assault of the icy wind on my already frozen face, when it happens. Light, brighter than the snow, closes in on me. My vision blurs and nausea boils in my stomach. I close my eyes, trying to deny what's happening.
It does no good.
Before me, the snowy white ground has turned to a dark surface of black speckled with gray and white spots. I look down at my feet.
I stand in the green grass of an early spring.
Panic races through my body. I know I'm in Sara's world, but my surroundings are unfamiliar. I've never come to this place before, never been alone outside anywhere but the backyard of her home.
Granny warned before she died that my journeys would become longer and further from my twin's home as I grew older. My fear kept me, not from believing her, but from acknowledging the truth.
Now I was faced with it and had no idea what to do.
I stood there, waiting. Waiting for it to pass. Waiting to be back in the forest I was roaming only a moment ago. I heard a grinding noise, coming closer.
If I don't look it will go away, I told myself, but I didn't believe it.
And it didn't go away.
I take a deep breath before I dare to look up. Before I dare to believe what I know to be true.
I'm nowhere near my home, or hers, anymore.
A big metal structure stops before me. A door opens in its yellow side and this thing rumbles like my stomach when I'm hungry--only much louder.
I step back.
A lady sits behind a large wheel. She looks over at me, and let's out an exasperated sigh.
"Well, are you coming?"
In the windows, I see the faces of other kids watching me. Their expressions don't convey fear or even concern.
I sling my backpack over my shoulder and take one step in, then another. I hear the door behind me close, and turn to face it. I push on it, bang on it, but it won't budge. I'm trapped.
I hear giggles behind me.
I'm handling this wrong. I'm obviously safe. No one else is worried about being inside the belly of this beast. I take a deep breath to calm the panic rising in my chest, and turn to face the other kids. One of the boys is snickering.
I walk down the aisle trying not to meet any of their eyes. My cheeks are warm with embarrassment; my hands clenched into fists at my side. I breathe slowly. In, out. In, out.
"Sara!"
I turn to the one who called out. She looks angry, so I continue on. There's two empty seats a few rows from the back but I don't want to be so far from the door.
So far from escape.
I look at the little boy even to where I stand, and move to sit down. He pushes his backpack to cover the space.
"Not here," he says.
I move on.
I get the same reaction at the three other seats when I pause. The last boy is older, maybe a year to my age.
"Don't even think about it," he says, not even sparing me a glance.
I move on.
I take a seat several rows from the back, in front of a group of kids who are obviously troublemakers. I know their kind. Where I'm from I'm labeled the same way. But I'm not from here, not one of them, and know better to intrude on their space.
