Paranoia

You cannot know what this was like. You had to be there.

It was the end of the world. I mean, we all knew it, but nobody said it. Mom and Dad were going about their business, without a word to one another, or me, except to bark at orders at me, when they wanted me to go outside so they could fight about what could be done.

The skies were ominous and dark, and there was a kind of tension in the air as I went outside. None of my usual playmates were on the street that day, so I sat on the porch and occasionally played with some toys I had left there the day before, nervously awaiting their decision.

It was coming, that much was obvious, and for a while, I thought about running. I didn't know where I would go, but maybe someone would take pity on me and give me a ride out of town, where it would be safer. Anywhere but here. But then I pictured myself out there, alone, wet and cold and unable to acquire food on my own. I put my toys down and cried softly. I couldn't let Mom and Dad see me like this so I had to be quiet; they always yelled at me if they caught me crying. It's a terrible position to be in, but I was used to it, and I played it cool when Mom opened the door, the look on her face signalling my worst fears; that they had decided to stay and rough it.

When I got inside they sat down, watching television, like everything was normal, but everything was not normal. Everything was about to be terrible, and we all knew it, and there was nothing that could be done about it. I laid down flat and tried to squeeze under the couch, but my head had gotten too big for that now, and my mother quickly scolded me for bumping the furniture. Then I heard the most terrible noise I have ever heard before or since. These long shrieks like a giant monster's roar as it decimated the city and I couldn't stand it. I cried out and ran and crawled under my bed. I just needed to feel safe, but any moment now the violence outside would find it's way in. The plan was I was supposed to go to the bathroom. It was in the center of the house and that's safer I guess, but I was petrified. That noise just kept getting louder.

That day we got lucky. Really lucky. Which might be a curse because what if it happens again? What if Mom and Dad grow so complacent that they decide no matter how bad it gets, we should just stay and deal with it? I often wonder if we're just postponing the inevitable. Eventually, the wet will fall from the sky again and the sound will return, that terrible violence which is out there, doing terrible awful things somewhere. The cat acts so smug, but she'll see when it finally happens, and she'll be out in the middle of the living room somewhere and no one will be able to save her.

They'll all see someday. I'm not crazy. This threat is real. And trust me, I'd give all the flea collars in the world to be wrong. You wouldn't understand. You weren't there.