15 - Hidden

15 - Hidden

The room is cramped but liveable. The ceiling slopes down and when I stand sometimes, I forget and bash my head. I forget how tall I am, or more likely, it’s a small room. A small, circled window sits just above my stomach when I stand. To catch a glimpse of light, I must bend my body in half, my back twisted to see the world outside, not that anything is particularly interesting out there, especially in the Winter months. In Winter, like it is now, I would rather be tucked up inside. It may not be the hottest in here but like I say, its liveable.

I have a small camp bed stuffed into a corner. The top of the wall scrapes my bed sheets. The walls aren’t nicely decorated, only the dry wall it has been felt like. The wooden floor creaks every movement I make so I try not to squeak in case I disturb everyone downstairs.

Because of my large frame, when I sleep my feet stick from the end of the covers. That can be cold at night due to the fact both my socks have toe holes peeking out. But I lie and try to sleep, my large thick coat wrapped around me for warmth, my scruffy beard sheltering my face from cold.

Food is the hardest to come by, but I have tricks up my sleeve. In the dead of night, I climb down the ladders leading upstairs and tip toe to the kitchen. The moment when the fridge is open and the light shines upon me like that of an angel, visiting.

Whole chicken and whole chocolate cakes. In some ways, I suppose I am lucky, they all excellent cooks. I stash my pockets full of canned food and other fruit and vegetables I make my way to the bed sit where I spend my time just kneeling on the wooden floor, looking at the night traffic flowing by finishing off the chicken.

The last few days have become worrying. Luckily, I haven’t been sick in all the time I’ve stayed here, but I’ve noticed a large pain right in the centre of my back. Without being able to twirl myself around 360 degrees like an owl, with no mirror around the place or no one to give me a helping hand I can’t tell if I’m over exudating or something serious is happening to me.

The other night scared me the most. Climbing down the ladders, I headed to the kitchen to eat, all the beautiful food staring at me in the light and as I reach to eat I just cant. I don’t know how to explain it, I reach out and nothing.

I was hungry and disturbed when I trailed back trying to lie in bed, pulling the thin sheet over me, but even in the room where I stay things are out of control, I can’t pull the sheet back onto my body, so annoyingly, I lie on top staring at the ceiling until I fall asleep.

This is my journal, the only per- thing I can openly tell my emotions and thoughts too. Underneath the bed is where I found you. A few pages with shopping lists and unfamiliar dates but mostly clean. Slotted inside, this pencil, honestly, I’m glad for it all.

The strangest thing just happened. I wasn’t aware of what was going on, heard the door slam open behind me and panicked. Oh, journal I haven’t been honest, even to you! I am hidden, a refuge in a family’s attic, I can’t be seen --

But I was seen, just now, that is the issue I have. The mother burst through and just saw me kneeling on the floor, the odd thing was she dismissed me, it must be Christmas, because she came to collect the decorations and -

Oh no. You don’t think they killed ….