Just when he thought he might drown, the door flew open. He stumbled out in a deluge of water, gasping for air and coughing. There was no one there. At that moment, the lights flicked back on, bathing the room in bright fluorescent light. Adjusting his vision and returning to his feet, he had no time to ponder his mysterious savior. The principal stormed into the room, his eyes wide at the scene. August was immediately grabbed by his hood and dragged to the office.

“Sit,” the principal ordered, pointing to a chair outside his door. August obeyed, dripping water onto the floor. He could hear the murmur of voices inside, discussing what to do with him, deciding his fate.

This was familiar.

August had spent most of his life sitting in silence all alone with the murmurs of adults just outside a door. Sometimes yelling, sometimes screaming, always oblivious to him. It’s the condescending way adults treat children. They say, not in front of the children, and then send them away to their room, blissfully ignorant that a two-inch wooden door is not a sufficient barrier to block out their particular genre of performative linguistic abuse.

After what felt like an eternity, the door opened, and August was ushered into the office.

The principal sat behind his desk, a stern expression on his face. He was a larger, older man, with a tousled mess of gray hair. Beside him stood a peculiar figure in a light-brown suit with a fake tan and wearing an obvious toupee. “This is Dr. Summer,” the principal said motioning towards the man. “He’s a child psychologist. We were lucky he was here.”

Dr. Summer smiled, it was toothy and fake, his dry lips catching on his veneers. “August, we’re very concerned. You’ve injured another student—badly. Trent’s jaw seems to be broken and he’s been taken to the hospital.”

The principal emptied the contents of August’s backpack onto his desk—stones clattered and rolled across the polished wood. “What were you thinking?” he demanded.

August had no answer. He felt numb, detached from the unfolding scene.

Dr. Summer hoisted a leg and sat on the edge of the principal’s desk. “You’re not the first to lash out like this, but we must be vigilant. For your safety, and the safety of the other students. We deemed that you’re a danger, August, to yourself and others.”

“You will be placed under Dr. Summer’s care at a facility that will meet your specific needs,” the principal continued. “You won’t be returning to this school.”

August shifted in his chair, ready to protest, but no words came. He knew he was powerless in this moment. Behave, be quiet, and do as you're told—adults are talking. Accepting defeat, he sank lower into the chair.

“Maybe we could have some time alone?” Said Dr. Summer to the principal. Then he turned to August, “I’d like to have some time with August. Just the two of us.” The words seeped from his lips.

As the door closed behind the principal, Dr. Summer edged closer to August. “I know all about you, August. You’ve undergone counseling before, I read it in your file.”

“You hide under a hood, hoping people won’t notice you daydreaming. You can’t focus and can’t describe what’s going on inside your head. Yes, I know all about you...” He smiled again, displaying his bright white veneers, confident he had his thumb pressed deeply into August’s subconscious. Everything about him oozed.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

Dr. Summer was just inches away now, “I know about it all, August.” And then, he leaned in even closer and whispered, “They’re not dreams…”

The discomfort was overwhelming. Before August could rise from his chair, his grandfather arrived, standing in the doorway with the principal, his face a mask of disappointment. “Come on, boy,” he said gruffly.

Holding out a hand, Dr. Summer halted Grandpa Nick. “Here is my card. It has the address of my institute and a phone number on the back. I’ll expect to see August in the morning.” He shot another fake smile, creasing his sun-dried skin into thick ravines, and handed August his empty backpack.

They headed out into the rainy parking lot. Grandpa Nick’s car was there. A beaten-to-hell ‘88 Ford Escort in economy brown. As long as it kept running, he’d never part with it, even if the floors were so rusted you could see the road go by beneath you. The drive was silent, like a fencing match between two duelists too stubborn to move first, until August noticed that they weren’t heading in the right direction. “Where are we going?”

“We’re going to see your mother.” Grandpa Nick said without looking over.

August sank in the passenger seat. Grandpa Nick had made the first move after all, and it was a killing blow.

August remembered one of his oldest memories of his mother. He was hiding away in the dark. Away from the bright fluorescent lights of the convenience store. A constant beep came from above on the intercom—bing bong, big bong, bing bong.

He saw the world through the shelf he had crawled into, constructing his own world behind stacked cereal boxes and paper towels. His view of the store was dark around the corners and then so bright. It was a place for giants, but not for him. August was hidden here. He was safe. This was a place for little ones like him.

Then mother came. She had to lean down, her knees in her floral dress touching the floor as she crawled to meet him. “Whatchya doin’ down there?”

“Hiding,” he said, meekly.

“Can I come hide with you?”

“Yes,” he said.

She reached her arms in. Her nails were red, matching her lipstick. Her hair was done up, stuck so perfectly in place that nothing could disturb it.

She sat there under the shelf with him. Her legs dangled out into the aisle. They sat like that for a minute.

“You’re small now, and hiding from the great big world might seem so grand. But one day you’ll be big and look back on these small spaces and wonder why they used to mean so much to you—wonder why they look so empty, and wonder where all that wonder went. You don’t want to spend all those years of brilliant wonder hiding away. There’s a world that isn’t hiding, and it wants you to find it. So go out there, and go find it while you are still making sense of it, while you’re still in awe of it. What do you say? Are you ready?”

“Yeah… I guess so,” said August, begrudgingly.

She held his hand, and led him out into the bright light of the grocery store. Bing bong, bing bong, bing bong.

August shook back to reality. They had arrived.

The care center was as brightly lit as that grocery store, but white and clinical, and the entire place smelled sterile, like bleach. Grandpa Nick escorted August down white halls until they reached her room. Grandpa Nick didn’t enter, and directed August inside.

She was there, sitting quietly. That’s mostly all she did. “Hi, mom,” said August.

She looked over, acknowledging him, but not remembering. She was among all of those who didn’t remember him, and as he reasoned, wouldn’t miss him. August’s mother, once vibrant and full of life, now mostly stared vacantly, lost in the fog of dementia. She didn’t recognize him anymore. The visit was meant to be a punishment.

“I got in trouble.”

“That’s nice,” she said softly.

“I’m getting out here.” August paced a bit, unsteady.

“Where will you go?”

“I’m going to be with dad.”

“Dad? Where is he?” The words had no meaning to her.

“I don’t know,” said August. “I haven’t seen him since he left.” He paused, considering his next words. “I think he went back to where he came from. I tried to see him last night, but something strange happened. I’m going to try again tonight.”

She didn’t speak this time, her eyes wandering and her hands busy flattening out the wrinkles of her gown.

“I’m going to drown myself,” said August, flatly.

“That’s nice,” she repeated.

August wiped away a tear forming in the corner of his eye. No tears, he thought. He was beyond that.

That night the storm continued to rage outside. In that way it was a reflection of himself. He packed a flashlight, and for some reason he could not explain, he dug into the drawer of his desk and retrieved the compass his father had given him. Maybe he would find his way home.

A bolt of lightning illuminated the room in a wash of white light, preceding a booming roar of thunder that shook the house on its stilts. Outside the window, its face nearly pressed against the glass, was the creature.

“I found you…” it said.