He can hear the trees talking and chatting around outside the basement. He can hear the bees gossiping and singing, telling him stories and making him laugh out loud. He can hear everything and everyone; they all talk to him at once.
The boy opens his eyes and stares at the concrete wall, nodding to himself. The darkness has given him strength. His mind is expanding to connect him with the world.
He is evolving, becoming something else.
When he hears the girl, every step, every step, every step, he rushes to the edge of his cage. The latch swings open. He can hear the chamber breathing, sucking in clean air and releasing the stale. He can hear her heart racing as she slowly descends the steps, each little step cautious.
I can hear everything!
I must be a dog.
“I want to be a dog,” the boy says as the girl comes down the stairs, carrying a bowl of food. Those six words change him. The beautiful girl has never uttered a word to him. No matter how many times he's begged for answers.
“A dog has good hearing," he continues. "Very good. A dog can run fast, too. And... and they live in cages, too. Boys don’t live in cages. I think I might be changing into a dog. Do I look like a dog?”
She stares at him; her brown eyes circled in violet. “You could be a dog.” She nods slowly. “Maybe. Turn around.”
A voice!
Her voice!
Excited, the boy spins around, his arms sweeping out wide so she can inspect him.
She nods again. “Yes, yes, I think you are.”
I like her voice.
A spike of excitement hits the boy, and he grips the bars, peering between the gaps at the girl. “If I’m a dog, then this is okay,” he proclaims, his tone calm for the first time in minutes or hours or days. "This room is good for a dog. The food is, too.”
A small smile tugs at the girl’s swollen and bruised lips. “I’d like to be a cat. Maybe…”
“Why a cat?” he asks, scrunching up his nose in disapproval. He likes dogs.
“A cat can climb high. Higher than people can reach.”
The boy tilts his head in thought, looking at her bruises, understanding that whoever hurts her might not be able to climb trees. He releases a little sigh. Yes, he thinks, she should be a cat. “Can I name you?” he asks, a flutter filling his chest at the thought. “The cat you?”
“Yes,” she replies, sitting on the fifth step, watching him pace around in contemplation.
“Um…” The boy hesitates. “What about Sunshine?”
“Okay,” she agrees. The boy’s lips curve up, his cheeks revealing distinct dimples. She looks at them, and smiles back, asking, “Can I name you?”
“Yeah,” the boy says.
“Kon.” The girl’s sweet voice fills his chest with hope. “My mum...” Her voice falters. “My mum said Kon means ‘dog’ in her language, but I don’t remember the language.”
“Okay!”
Unfortunately, Sunshine doesn’t turn into a cat. She can’t climb out of reach of the person who hurts her, but she does go to school for the minutes or hours or days that Kon is alone. She learns to read, count, write, and then tells him stories and tries to teach him more numbers.
She is a girl, and he is her dog. The boy doesn't mind; he likes being hers. Even though his place is in the cage, in the basement, below the daisy-covered ground, he still wakes up with bright eyes. He knows that she will come for him, and they will play.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
blesk
I love books. There is a book out there for everything. I wish there was a book that details how to wake up after a day like yesterday. One that details how to feel, what to do, and what to say. That says, this is the way forwards now…
