She Didn’t Want to Get Up
The dog barked loudly, waking the drowsy, uncooperative girl from her bewitching dreams of another lifetime. The amber glow from the rising morning star pried a path through the vertical slit between thin curtains, and, for one moment, its beauty threatened the girl’s disguise in her exposed state of semi-consciousness. At once, the girl realized she was vulnerable. She quickly closed the door built into the dense walls around her and locked herself inside.
Immediately, her waking brain snapped from living in a moment to planning the future day, constructing and reconstructing the endless checklist that had become her life. She decided long ago, whether consciously or not, she wouldn’t dwell on the why of the walls, but she would attempt to function from within those walls. Her ruse was so convincing, the girl herself, no longer knew what was genuine and what was fictitious. Her hand instinctively clutched the wall’s key draped on a constricting chain around her neck, preserving the comforting security of her prison walls. She inhaled a slow breath and released it with a dreary sigh at the thought of another day of hiding, of pretending.
She was tired, but unlike the exhaustion that comes from watching just one more episode of her favorite show the night before, she was weary of a bustling, restless lifetime of constructing a barricade of self-preservation. She had the blueprints — she helped build the walls herself. She had the key — she designed it herself. She knew how to escape, but she was worn. She knew that by opening her door and opening her eyes, she would have to face the day, and with it, her vast fears and suffering. The mere thought of it was daunting. Again, she grasped the aged key, chained around her neck. She understood she could escape her familiar, safe state of being. She recognized she could let go, take a risk, and conquer her world. But, just not today. Just not today. Just not today. So, the girl laid in bed, because she didn’t want to get up…just quite yet.