In the dirt, in the dark, backed into the corner, under the house, is your perfect place. You keep still. If you do, no one will find you. The broken shards of masonry dig into you ribs and leave sores. The grey dust cakes your skin and slowly piles around your nostrils. Your light, slow breath barely disturbing it. Spiders build nests around your open eyes, hazing your vision with webs and the stirring of tiny twitching legs. You keep still. Unblinking, you watch the cracks of light seeping through the foundation. A shadow passes. Your heart starts with a shock, and your stomach falls away. You keep still, only now it takes all your might. You want to run, to bellow in terror. In rage. Fight or flight. Somehow you resist. You keep still Not moving. Not blinking. Nothing comes for you. Night. You listen for footfalls over the sounds of the animals. Outside. In the woods. In the yard. God help you, in the house above you. Nothing. They haven’t found you. You keep still.

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