Double

"We can't fly."

She told me that. She was sad when she told me. She looked at my drawing. Grabbed it. And set it on fire. "But we can burn," she then said. "And so can they," she added and pointed at the people in the tv.

I tilted my head a bit to the left and looked at her. Wondering what she meant.

"Look, you devilish child," she said and took my hand. She pulled me towards her and placed the burning drawing of me flying right under my wrist. I watched as blisters started appearing and then tried to pull away my arm. She kept holding it.

It hurt.

Tears started running down my cheeks.

"Are you crying?" She asked. I shook my head. She finally let go of my hand and I removed it from the fire.

It still hurt.

A lot.

I still cried. Silently.

I didn't understand.

Did both cold and warmth hurt?

Fire was warm. It burned me. Mama was cold. She hurt me.

"Stop crying," she said.

I nodded.

"You're 4. And it doesn't hurt so you shouldn't cry like a baby."

I shook my head.

I shouldn't cry.

It didn't hurt.

Just a little.

No.

It didn't hurt. At all.

"It doesn't hurt," I whispered.

She smiled. Still looking sad.

The doorbell rang and mama jumped up. She took the still burning drawing, threw it in the sink, poured water on it and then looked at me.

"Room. Now," she said.

I nodded and crawled away from the low table, past the couch nobody ever used, all the way to the little door at the other end of the living room. A little white door well camouflaged by the white walls of the room. The door opened and I crawled inside. There was just enough room for me to fit in there, sitting down, hugging my legs tight.

Then she closed the door. Locked it from the kitchen where she had some kind of remote for the mechanical lock on it.

She then opened the front door. Didn't want to keep him waiting. I didn't even know if it was him. It could be the other him. Or the 3rd. Maybe the 7th. They all had different rhythms so I'd know soon who it was.

I heard their faint voices disappearing upstairs.

Soon the rhythms started. The distant knocking sounds told me it was 5th.

I always wondered what they were doing. They weren't playing music. It was just pounding in the wall and moaning sounds, sometimes screams.

The moaning was there again.

I heard it.

Loud and clear.

But this sounded a little different.

I opened my eyes.

I'd fallen asleep.

I always felt safer in tight places like this. Maybe that was why I'd dozed off. But that didn't explain the dream.

I ran my fingers over the scar on my left wrist. I'd long forgotten the burning feeling.

It didn't hurt.