• When I die, as I know someday I will, I want someone else to be at my side, and die alongside me. Maybe that other person was better then me, or maybe they were worse. My friend, my enemy, family or perhaps a complete stranger. This was what I thought about, sitting quietly by the tiny window, forgotten by the world. Tiny window, not big enough to let my thoughts through. Instead they bounced around the walls of my room. Why my room had such small, dense little windows, I never asked. It was a given policy in my parent's home that whatever happened inside our own little caves, our rooms that protected us, that represented us, stayed there. Because of this, nobody had ever stepped foot into my room. It was just me, and the thousands of sketches that hung on my wall, some clinging for dear life, about to fall off and reveal the hideous wallpaper beneath them.

    Other pictures were secure, almost as if they had come with the room. Immortals, that could never be destroyed. The Tiger was one of those pictures. I found it after the Move my parents forced me to take with them. They said our old city was. . .well too old. They thought that they were introducing me to new culture. By taking me to live in a town with a population barely reaching past 5,000. I knew better. It was my fault we moved, my mistake of telling them the Unbearable Truth. It was an accident of course. They moved me here because they knew if word got out, people would gossip, as people do. When they gave me my room, and claimed their own rooms as far away from mine as possible, I found him.

    It is a he, I don't care what anyone else says. The Tiger is a he. I found it taped to the back of my closet door as I searched for an adventure. It's also where I found the paper, buried in the back of that closet. An escape from the prison I was locked in because of the Unbearable Truth. I wasn't allowed out of this room any more. My parents said it was for the best. I knew it was because they didn't want to look at me anymore. So I began to draw, as the monthes plodded away, filling my four walls with my life. My heart, even my soul. As I stand back, sitting in the window seat and look at the opposite wall, I begin to see how my life would play out to any observers, had they been allowed into my room. So many trees, skeletal and black. The rim the edges of the wall, and fade into a meadow, a cacophony of dangerously bright and fake colors peeking through in individual flowers that could never have possibly exsisted.

    My eyes followed the bright obnoxious colors as they begin to fade, melting into copper, gold, and silver. There are undertones of black, but true life, not fake life, is beginning to raise it's head. It is the final wall. All the other walls of my life have been covered, floor to ceiling. I have taken Tiger off the wall again, holding it near me, pressed against my heart. I do that on occasion, to give me strength. The wall is almost done. I stand up, unfolding my legs. They have begun to cramp, and I need to walk now. I walk everyday. My meals, basic and simple, three times a day. Breakfast, lunch, dinner. The lights in my room are switched off at exactly 9:30 P.M. I can control nothing else in my life except what I cover my walls with. I walk back, and fill the last open spot on the wall with Tiger. He gazes back into my soul, and tells me I'm not a bad person.

    He tells me to be strong, be brave, be fearless. I tell him I am not a tiger, nor will I ever be one. Yes, he replies, you'll never be a tiger, but you'll still be brave. I run my hand over my swollen pregnany belly, and wonder how he knows this. He's just a drawing, a sketch, a piece of paper, he couldn't possibly know me. Because you have no other choice, you will be strong. Tiger tells me, as the lights flicker. I look at the clock that sits pertly on my nightstand, telling me it is now 9:28. Two minutes before lights out. I crawl into bed, not having changed out of my night clothes. All my other clothes had grown far too tight, and I knew my parents wouldn't buy me any new ones. So, I watch from under my covers, the Tiger. He looks at me back, eyes binding me to a promise I didn't remember making. I close my eyes, and pray for it all to end.

    The bright eyes watch me from my closed eyelids. They repeat the phrase until I can repeat it back. I know I am alone, but not for very much longer. As the empty night tolls on, alone and scared, I repeat.

    "I am brave. . .I am strong."