Hibernation

Hibernation

(I was 12 when my twin left me, and I became street-smart at the tender age of thirteen.)

I was asleep for many moons, but then one day awakened to the dawn and a rumbling belly.

Here I am, right where you should be. But you up and died. Not that it was your fault, but you still left me here. Alone. To deal with this. So I hid – buried myself in stories and lies. Until I realized your short story was braver than mine.

I often wondered why you left me. I wasn’t strong, like you.

But then I remembered your name.

A strong name. A strong voice. But not strong enough to exist in the cold.

I lay down to sleep in the dark, until a fresh breeze started poking me. Was that you? You used to tickle me to greet the day, where we could share a smile in the dawn.

But then there were no more smiles; no more tickles; no more shared sunrises. Just me and the silence. So I left. I found a comfortable niche and curled up under my comfy blanket to sleep for a while. Eventually, the sunlight kept poking my eyelids.

And so I emerged as my muscles began to quiver – ravenous for truth and freedom.

I burst forth from my shadowed comfort with a ragged scream. My voice seemed so foreign. I don’t think I’ve ever heard it sound so strong. So powerful. So confident. Is that you, my brother?

I shivered. Still alone. It was only me, and I had something to say.

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