Since I was, like, five years old... I’ve had a fear that my family are going to die. Suddenly. Without me there. And I’ll be left as an orphan. I mean, I’d rather die with my family than be left on my own. I used to run home from school every day at top speed. Just incase.
I think it was after our house was burgled that it started. I actually slept through the burglary itself...I woke up when the front door bell went when the police arrived. My dad had tried to chase the robber down the street as he was heading off with our antique clock and video player under his arm. But my dad’s old pyjama bottoms kept falling down as he was running. So he didn’t get very far. My dad. That is.
After that though, I used to lye awake at night listening for unfamiliar footsteps on the kitchen floorboards, the sound of the bread knife sliding out of its stand and a figure creeping up the spiral staircase to my parent’s bedroom. I started burying little things under the grass and in the flower beds around our house. Somehow the intrusion of a stranger equated as my family being vulnerable. I thought maybe the little objects would create a web around us that would protect us. So they’d never die. And I’d never be alone. I’m grown up now so I know these fears are irrational really. But I still run home at top speed every now and then.
[I'd like to point out that no one monologues in real life. Seriously.]
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