DESPERATE

4

Back in their old apartment, they had no dining room. They ate wherever they wanted. Dionah followed her sister Gail downstairs. Their parents and brother waited impatiently for them at the table. Mom had made mashed potatoes with gravy, roast chicken, and salad. Gail said grace, and they ate in silence.

Randall gazed at them with envy, his mouth watering. He licked his dry cracked lips and thought, Please, save some for me. The aroma of the food was so tempting that he felt like breaking through the wall and devouring it all.

Dad broke the silence. "How about we get a pet? A cat or a dog?" He looked around, hoping for some enthusiasm.

No one seemed interested. They shrugged or shook their heads. Randall sighed in relief. He had nothing to worry about. He could roam the house and the yard as he pleased.

Gail stared at the wall. Randall felt uneasy. She looked right at him, as if she knew they were being watched. It scared him.

"Are there any mice in this house?" Gail asked nervously.

"I doubt it. The house looks pretty new. Besides, if I see any sign of rodents, I'll call an exterminator right away." Jillian assured her.

Randall clenched his jaw. No, you can't do that! He'll discover my secret room. He felt a surge of anger and wanted to punch the wall.

Dionah helped her mother clear the table. She put the leftovers in the fridge and said, "I don't want to wash the dishes. It would ruin my pink nail polish." She left her mother to do all the cleaning by herself.

Randall heard the TV in the living room. He decided to join them. He couldn't recall the last time he watched TV. He picked his nose and tried to stifle his laughter. After an hour, Randall got tired of standing for too long. His eye was red and irritated from the dust. He went back to his room to rest.

The house was quiet. Everyone was asleep in their beds. He lifted the loose board and crawled out of his room. He stretched his arms and legs and snooped around the basement. It was filled with unopened boxes. Nothing interesting.

He went upstairs to the kitchen and looked for a plastic garbage bag. He found one under the pile of junk. He opened the fridge and grabbed some leftovers and fruits with his dirty hands. He stuffed the food in the plastic bag. His throat was dry so he took some cans of beer and soda. He also snatched some bags of chips and pretzels from the counter.

Upstairs, a toilet flushed and water gurgled down the drainpipe. Randall quickly left the kitchen and headed back to the basement. The plastic trash bag was too heavy for him. He struggled to carry it. He had to drag it all the way to his room. He stuffed the room with food and drinks until there was hardly any space left for him.

I won't starve anymore. Randall drank the beverages and stuffed the food in his mouth. Crumbs and empty cans and bags littered the floor. His stomach felt strange. He had never eaten so much in his life. The house had several bathrooms, but he couldn't use them. It was too dangerous. He had to go outside to relieve himself.

He had a hard time crawling through the tunnel with a bloated stomach. When he lifted the wooden cover, he heard a low, guttural growl. He froze as he saw a dog approaching slowly. Its head was low. The growl was constant. Foam dripped from its mouth. One wrong move, and he was dead.

It was too close. Randall didn't want the dog to bite his face off. He clenched his small fist and punched the dog in the eye. The dog whimpered and ran away. He stayed still as he tried to locate the dog in the dark. The silence was eerie. He finally wriggled out of the tunnel. The dog was nowhere to be seen.

Randall fumbled through the darkness, his hands out, trying to find his way. He bumped into trash bins. I have to stay near the house. I don't want to get lost and sleep outside. He went behind a trash bin and pulled down his torn pants.

As Randall squatted down, he felt sharp teeth bite into his thigh. He grabbed the animal's neck and squeezed it hard until it stopped moving. Damn, raccoon! He finished his business and wiped himself with the dead raccoon. He lifted the lid of the trash bin and tossed it in. His thigh throbbed with pain. Blood seeped out from the wound and stained his pants. Randall didn't want to leave a trail of blood. He took off his torn shirt and wrapped it around his bleeding thigh.

Randall rushed back inside the house to look for a medical kit. He headed straight to the guest room bathroom. The wound hurt a lot. He was too short to reach the medicine cabinet; he had to climb on the toilet seat to open it. He found some adhesive bandages, antibiotic ointment, and a pain reliever bottle. He grabbed some and shut the medicine cabinet. He jumped off the toilet seat with his arms full. It was smeared with his dirty footprints. He used a clean towel to erase all traces of his presence.

He laid the dirty towel on the floor and dumped everything on it. He rolled it up and went to the kitchen. He opened the fridge to get a bottle of water. He hated taking medicine, especially pills. He had a bad memory from his childhood. He once choked on a pill and almost died. Since then, he chewed the pills and washed them down with water.

As Randall opened the basement door, he heard someone coming downstairs. He silently closed the door behind him and ran down the basement stairs to his room. He was living a good life. He was afraid of being discovered.