“I don’t know.”

The phrase rolls off the tip of her tongue. It’s a lie. She knows. She just can’t say it. Her eyes flutter around, pausing momentarily on the mundane before finally resting on the floor; she bites her lip. The words bubble inside her chest, her lungs filled with the air to form them, but—somehow— they get caught in her throat on the way out. She musters the three word phrase that has dominated her diction for quite some time, “I don’t know.”

But she did know. She felt the weight of the knowledge with every breath, with every step, with every passing moment. Yes, she did know. She just couldn’t bring herself to say it. Once those words left her mouth and bounced onto that hardwood floor, once it was verbalized, the monster wouldn’t just be one that haunted her in her sleep, that was her constant companion all throughout the day; no, once she spoke of it, the monster would become so much more real. Of this she was sure.

So she walked away without another word. Those three syllables lingering in the air. She had just thrown away the key to the chains weighing down on her mind, her body, her heart, her soul. She was dragging an anchor behind her, this much was apparent as she staggered toward the river. She didn’t stop once she reached the banks, either, she simply marched into her watery grave.

She knew.

© 2011 Sarah Jane