Chapter 1: Bad child/Silence is Survival/Goodnight Dearling — Don’t Wake Them (COULDNT DECIDE SO ILL GET BACK TO CHAPTER NAMING IN THE REVISING STAGE)

          Many things of old time make no sense to me. Like lullabies. Mother said people used to sing others to sleep. To young children. But it wakes them. The Watchers. If they heard they’d take you to silence.

Forever.

          Or they’d punish you. Make you feel guilt. Guilt till it swallows you whole. I feel like this often. Or other things. Like why I can’t be like Fallon. Like why I can’t follow Mother’s rules as well. Like why I can’t be as quiet. Like why I won’t be able to be as safe as him.

          So we don’t speak. We don’t make noise. To live. Mother can. She’s allowed to. But I’m not. Neither is Fallon but he has more freedom with talking. He’s older and doesn’t question so he earned it. I’m trying to earn it. I’m failing.

          I’m sitting in darkness, hands clasped in my lap. Little light comes through the cracks of the door. But it’s enough to see. Kind of. If I try hard enough I can. “That’s all I need” is what Mother always tells me. If Mother says it, it’s true.

          Fabric is under me. Scratchy. Uncomfortable. But I don’t move. It’d make a sound. I don’t want to be punished again. Not again. Fallon never struggles like this. Why can’t I be more like him? He’s perfect. I want to be perfect.

          Tick, tick, tick. The clock. I look up. I don’t move my head, just my eyes. Staring through the darkness I try to see the clock above my door. It looks about 8. Mother is late. Late? No, Mother can’t be late. She never is. I must be early.

          My skin itches for me to shift. I don’t. A strand of brown hair falls into my eyes anyway. Quietly, I brush my hair out of my face. A slight rustle of fabric. “Stop moving…” my head echoes at me.

          The clock’s hands move slowly. Quietly. Like it doesn’t want to wake the Watchers either. They see everything. They know everything. They are everything.

          Finally, there’s thuds. Soft. Calm. Mother. Fiddling with my door handle, it opens wide, flooding my room with light. It burns my eyes. I close them to not move more than needed to. To not make a sound.

          My heart races. Loudly. Pounding in my throat. I open my mouth but close it immediately. I messed up. I shouldn’t have tried to speak. I shouldn’t have wanted to speak. Breathe quieter. I hold my breath. Quiet. Be quiet.

          Mother slowly steps over, staring down at me. In a gentle tone she says, “Don’t speak, Saoira. You’re late.” Her tone is soft, comforting almost. I’m late. I must’ve lost track. It’s my fault. Mother said so. 

          “I can hear your heartbeat from here. Be quiet, Saoira,” is what I hear whispering in my mind. Calm down. Calm down. Calm down. I feel lightheaded. My closed eyes see colorful shapes dancing around.

          I don’t answer.

          “Sleep, dearling” Mother speaks tenderly. “You were meant to be asleep at 8.” She points at the clock, a swift motion. I don’t turn my head. I don’t open my eyes. I don’t breathe. “It’s now 8:07. Tell me why you’re meant to be asleep at 8.”

          I don’t say anything this time either. Is this a trick question? Rhetorical? Does Mother actually want me to answer? With words?

          Grabbing my chin and turning my head to face her, a small smile tugs at her lips, “Look at me and acknowledge me when I tell you to, quiet one.”

          She does. Mother wants me to speak. Really? Mother never lies. Swallowing down my loud heart, taking a quiet breath, I muster up a simple few words. “…s-sorry, mother.” My voice is shaky, barely above a whisper. I must not wake the Watchers.

          Mother stares into my eyes

          Mother lets go of my chin. Putting her hands on my shoulders, she pushes me down onto the bed. My hair sprawls across the sheets. “Now rest, little one. Sleep.” Mother takes a step back. She wants me to sleep. She won’t leave til I do. She never does.

          I should sleep. But I can’t. My skin feels tight, like I’m too big for my body. Barely breathing, not moving, I’m still too loud. Just be like Fallon. He’d already be asleep. He’s good. I’m bad. The Watchers take bad children. Children that speak. Children that breathe too loud. Children that question. Please don’t take me tonight, Watchers. I promise I’ll be better. I will do better.