Give Me Peace

by M.K. Harper

I used to dream about what I’d do if I ever made it out of there. At first, it was all simple things: eat an entire pizza by myself, get an extra-large chocolate shake from Lettie’s Diner—brain freeze be damned—and even a promise to finally stand up to my playground nemesis, Havok McKade, whose parents must have had a sixth sense when naming him. Eventually, those thoughts shifted to things more meaningful. Like tell Mom how much I loved that she made me breakfast every morning before school, even though she’d been up all night from working her shift at the hospital. I wanted to visit my Grandaddy’s grave, who’d only passed a few months before I was taken, so I could finally apologize for stealing his stash of Reese’s and never fessing up. At some point, the ‘if I escape’ game seemed so improbable, all I really longed for was to feel the sun again. To press my toes in the sand at our favorite beach. I wanted the option of sound, laughter and voices. Anything but the silence I’d grown so accustomed to. Now, I just want my mom.