I was in my room when it started.

I thought the screaming was something that I dragged into waking, but it was the world outside. She told me to hide here, to make myself as invisible as possible. I'm good at that.

The sentries were gathering at the gates, and they decided to flush us out. Literally. The downstairs held, but the upstairs turned into a leaky raft, sailing up and over the battlements, over the fire, over their heads and into the sky.

She turned to me, speaking softly, telling me to remember that even though careening through this world was very frightening, they could never hurt us. Not really, now that we were half an ocean away.

"It's just an exaggeration of your normal bodily reactions to stress," she said, tucking me into bed that night. The dreams swayed back and forth in my head, sent into motion by the waves.

In the morning, we stood on the rooftop, swatting at the demons with her broom and my plastic sword. They mocked us, even as we slayed them. But the more we were willing to face them, the less powerful they became, eventually shrinking into more familiar forms. Bits of plastic wrappers. Shredded paper. One flailed and sunk into the sea, transforming into cotton stuffing upon hitting the water. We watched it float away.

"What if they come back?" I asked her as she tucked me into bed on the second night.

"So what?" She said, putting the covers tightly around me.

We then floated into what seemed to be enemy territory.

She will protect me.

She will protect me from the flood, the world outside, and all those noises that haunt me in the night.

She's the bravest one of them all.

leslie powell

8 august 2005

minnetonka, mn