The bubbly white paint on the ceiling looked itchy. The thought bounced in my head, making my skin crawl with an urge to scratch. My fingernails, chewed down to nubs, scraped at my elbows. “Mason, stop fidgeting,” my mother whispered, demanding once again that I sit still. The church buzzed with retirees, Sunday service in full swing. My father didn’t notice; his eyes were locked on the preacher behind the pulpit, towering over the congregation. The lines in the wood turned into imaginary racetracks, and I was halfway through a lap when my mother’s whisper snapped me back. “Sorry,” I mumbled out, chin to my chest as I looked to the carpet below. Sit still. Behave. I closed my eyes trying to picture the car again, until the shadowy outline in my mind appeared. I couldn’t picture anything, as most kids were told to see things in their mind’s eye. I saw only blackness, with just a feeling of what I was trying to think about. Picture an apple, and I would feel like I was picturing it, but saw nothing. Shaking my head, I tried to clear the drowsiness that boredom brought.

Then the clapping started—loud, too loud. I sank lower into the pew, trying to escape the noise. Each clap was like a slap to my head, rattling down to my gut. And the hollering—sharp, high-pitched—made my ears ring, a constant buzz I couldn’t shake. The congregation finally quieted, but their noise had worked the preacher into a frenzy. He launched into another sermon, his voice hacking out something about hellfire. Guilt. Flames. It was always the same—just a different page. Do bad things, burn forever. My racetrack burst into a roaring inferno, and the car I’d imagined sped away, chased by flames, the fire threatening to swallow it whole if I slowed down for even a second.

I closed my eyes, trying to drown out the sounds that engulfed me. I imagined myself floating in a bubble, drifting through a dark ocean where everything was still, a quiet sanctuary. The water cradled me in its silence, a peaceful emptiness, and I could feel the tension in my body melt away. My breathing slowed; my thoughts softened. I was drifting toward sleep, letting the silence pull me under.

A sharp elbow to my side snapped me back. I blinked my eyes open, greeted by my sister Jessica’s annoyed expression. Her pinched nose and furrowed almond-brown eyebrows told me I’d broken an unspoken rule again. “Stay awake,” she hissed, then went back to doodling, her pen scratching the page in rhythmic frustration. This was the routine every Sunday—either I’d try to escape into some daydream, turning anything in sight into an adventure, or I’d try to sleep without getting caught. Either way, I was trapped on this hard wooden pew, a flat board with red padding that was barely thick enough to be a T-shirt, let alone a cushion.

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Finally, the little old lady behind us shuffled to the piano beside the pulpit. The altar call—symbol of hope and redemption for everyone else—felt like my lifeline. It meant the service was winding down. As she chopped away at the keys, the congregation stood, and with a reluctant groan, I followed suit. I bowed my head with the rest of them, though all I could think about was the freedom that awaited me.

The preacher’s voice rose and fell, each word a countdown to my escape. When he finally said amen, I wasted no time. I scurried past my parents, their surprised calls fading behind me. “Mason!” my father shouted, but there was no stopping me now. I burst through the heavy metal door, and sunlight hit my face like a warm embrace, washing away the stagnant odors of deodorant and hairspray. The fresh air filled my lungs, and for the first time that morning, I felt alive. The world outside was vibrant—bright colors, laughter, and the sound of birds chirping—each a reminder that I was free at last.

My father was behind me in an instant. “You stop when I call you, Mason.” His words were cold and disapproving, sending a chill through me that contrasted sharply with the crisp autumn air. I couldn't tell if it was my disobedience or the way I’d embarrassed him in front of everyone, but I apologized, my shoulders slumped and defeated. His glare softened and he returned to chatting with other members of the congregation.

Tension finally behind me, I dashed into the parking lot, where autumn leaves danced in the wind, scraping against the hard concrete. This was my favorite time of year—the sun wasn’t too bright, and the air felt fresh and invigorating, no longer heavy with summer's suffocating heat. At the edge of the lot, a forested area beckoned, its trees dropping large walnuts that I loved to gather and hurl like baseballs. My eyes scanned the ground for a suitable projectile, and I found one—a perfect size, just waiting for my grip.

With an exaggerated windup that would make a major league pitcher proud, I let it loose. The walnut whizzed through the air, slicing the crisp breeze, before crashing into something hard with a satisfying crack. For a moment, all my frustrations faded away, replaced by the thrill of the throw and the promise of adventure among the trees.

This routine continued for several more throws until laughter erupted nearby. It was Jessica, surrounded by her gaggle of friends. The church had only two other kids our age in attendance today, and those two were wrapped up in conversation with Jess—probably boys and makeup, I thought with a roll of my eyes. I turned back to my walnuts, the familiar rhythm providing a comforting distraction.

I couldn't wait to go home and dive into my video games, a place that felt somewhat normal compared to this chaos. But my focus shifted when I spotted a long oak branch on the ground. No longer a mere pitcher, I transformed into a warrior. This branch was a mighty sword, ready to slay evil and rescue the princess from her tower. With a hefty swing, I sent the branch whooshing through the air, exhilaration coursing through me—until I lost my grip. Time seemed to slow as the branch spun end over end, my heart sinking in horror. No! It sailed straight toward the church window, the world around me fading into a tense silence, leaving only the inevitable crash echoing in my ears.