SHE Writing Competition

Under 18 Finalists: Milla Walker

SHE who dreams

My sheets are red, my favourite colour. I can’t sleep with the sounds of the city and her lucent lights blurring in through the window Mum insists on leaving ajar. She likes the fresh air. My legs are numb as I rise, glancing in the mirror above my bed. My eyes are warm and trusting, my cheeks still covered in purple from last night when Dad pulled out his face paints. The sound of my parents preparing dinner sends alarm prickling through me as Mum bangs the steak in the next room. I’ve never understood why they cook at such a late hour.

Stella and Pria lie huddled together in bed on the other side of the room, my little sister already lost in slumber. Pria can’t sleep without one of us older girls beside her. She gets nightmares as frequently as I fail to find rest.

“You should get some sleep, Mita.” Stella’s voice, soothing yet grounded, brings me back to the present. I manage a nod and reach for the window’s handle, gently pulling it shut before slipping back under my sheets. They smell familiar – homely. But none of it is real.

I’ve never liked the colour red. It reminds me too much of my sheets, eternally spattered in blood. I can’t sleep with the thought of this city and the truth of my captivity, a haze of blurring lights seeping endlessly through the window Mum tried to jump from last week.

Stella and I stopped her at the last moment, but a part of me –embedded in shadow and twisted fear – wishes we hadn’t. Maybe she’d be happier. Maybe we’d all be happier if we’d done the same.

My legs ache and buckle weakly as I rise from the floor, casting aside my single sheet. I catch a hold of my reflection in the window; my gaze is veiled in shadow, swooping black bags burrowed beneath my hollow eyes. I haven’t slept in days. My entire face is laced with bruises from last night, stained a murky purple in the places he struck me. I can hear the muffled sounds of my parents in the next room, a body being slammed against the wall again and again. I wish I’d let her jump.

My two sisters lie on the old mattress in the corner, Stella’s arms wrapped around Pria as my little sister’s eyes brim with salt and anguish. We don’t let Pria sleep alone, in case Dad bursts in in the middle of the night. I look back at the window, the long drop below. And I wish I was falling.

“Mita.” Stella’s voice, fragmented and raw, brings me back to the present. “You can’t.” She breaks off, her tears glinting like fallen stars beneath the severed lights. Silence.

“You can’t.”

I manage a single nod before I start shaking. Trembling uncontrollably. I pull the window shut as quickly as my fingers allow and bury myself back under the sheet. It smells like blood. Like home.