Tamora & Firearris

Round and round the mulberry bush,
The mulberry bush,
The mulberry bush.
Here we go round the mulberry bush
On a Sunday morning

Bright colours flash before my eyes; a thousand smells overwhelm my nose, vivid tastes assault my tongue, and the sounds – the sounds are like a million choirs, the chorus of a flock of birds, an orchestra’s symphonic music, and the sound of angels’ wings. It carries me away, lifting me up on those gossamer wings, letting me drift through the world in peace. Music is my passion, and my freedom, nothing makes me feel more alive than the sound of music.
The laughter of the girls around me brings me out of my reverie and I watch them play and sing. They twirl around the girl in the middle as she spins in the opposite direction, and I feel dizzy just watching her. My sister always seems to be the "mulberry bush", and more often than not that privilege means that I have to help her stagger home on her shaking knees. We don’t mind laughing about it, half the fun is the trip home.
I never join in with her antics though, I prefer to sit and listen, letting myself be swept away by my feelings and imagination. Even now, sounds are forming in my head, another chorus of song ready to burst forth into my brain. I close my eyes again and let it overtake me. I always listen to what my mind gives me, the best music I’ve heard is created there, but I can just never write it down. I’ve never learnt how.
As I listen I forget everything that happens around me, the warm weather, the florida scenery. That's why I didn’t see it when it happened. But I heard it.
BANG.
It sounded like a car backfiring, so I didn’t open my eyes.
But then they came.
The screams.
And the loudest of all, my sister’s.
My eyes shot open in time to see her being carried off, a large man holding her tightly to his black clothes with one arm, while his half-covered eyes and gun were glaring at everyone around them. I saw, in shock, her struggle; saw her scream out in pain when he only squeezed her against him tighter, his grip like an iron clamp. I lept up from my seat, but froze when his gun became aimed at me.
I yelled at him to let her go, but he just laughed. I asked him why; why was he doing this? His answer came swiftly and shocked me into silence.
“Because of you, Louise.”
And with that, he ran towards the car waiting in the street, threw my sister in, and clambered through the door after her, slamming it closed on the way in. The car drove off, leaving me standing in the middle of the playground, silent tears falling down my stunned face. And all I could think was…
How does he know my name?

"Cass, what do you think of this one?" My mother held up another flower.


"It's nice." I responded, same as each flower. A few people gave her weird glances, my mother was taking flowers from the park.


"Oh, these will look lovely!" She bent down and grabbed more purple flowers. I closed my eyes,


Ring a-round the ros-ie

Pock-ets full of pos-sies

Ash-es ash-es

We all fall down!


The beat pulsed through me, syncing with my heart beat. I could practically feel the rhythm thrumming through my veins, up my neck, down my wrists, all the way down to my finger tips.


Pock-ets full of pos-sies


I looked up at my mother. She was a few yards away, picking flowers. I smiled and leaned back against the park bench, closing my eyes. The girls continued to sing and dance around the monkey bars, their notes floating through the air to me.


We are fall do- BANG!


The loud interruption made me fall off the bench.


BANG, BANG!


I looked around frantically, and saw my mother, legs bleeding, being dragged away. I quickly jumped up and ran towards the man, but he pointed the gun at me, I froze. He kept the gun pointed at me, and he pushed my mother in the car, before following, and the vehicle driving off. I stared, and took a few steps forward.


"Mother." I whispered.

I sat. That's all I could do. There was no music in my head now, no glorious symphony to comfort me; somehow my mind had shut that mechanism off, leaving me empty and alone with only my dread to comfort me. I dreaded going home, I dreaded the inevitable questions that would be asked, but above all, I dreaded my Mother. Her paranoia would not allow her to accept it as easily as I seemed to be, her mind would play tricks on her again, like it had when Dad left.
Yes some would say that my Mother was crazy, and child services were watching us, waiting for an opportunity to make us leave. Now my sister was gone, and our excuses to stay would have disappeared with her, nothing left to keep us together. They’d blame my Mother for it, and take me away.
My body left the seat, though I was barely aware of it. As my feet trudged slowly through the gravel, my mind was wandering, but for some reason my sister never became part of my thoughts, a piece of my history that had suddenly disappeared.
It took me a long time before I finally watched where I was going. I had turned up outside my house, though I didn’t want to be there. I stepped inside. The light was dim, and the curtains were shut tight. The air was stuffy; my brain screamed out for oxygen, so I went up to one of the windows, drew back the thick drapes and opened it.
“What do you think you’re doing, Louise?” My mother appeared behind me.
“You need fresh air, Mum,” I replied, “You know what the doctors said.”
“Stuff the doctors,” She turned angrily away, “They don’t know what’s good for me.”
“Yes, Mum.”
“Besides, the light hurts my eyes,” she closed the curtains again, not noticing the open window.
“Yes, Mum.”
She turned back to look at me suspiciously. I looked away, not wanting her to see my face, “Where’s Gracie?”
I kept quiet, and the tear that had stayed put until then finally fell.
My mother’s face fell, “Louise, tell me.”
I tried to, I swear I did, but my tongue wouldn’t speak and my lips wouldn’t move. My mother shook her head, not wanting to believe, not wanting to know.
I was crying now, the tears flowing freely. Now that Mum knew, all I could do was think of little Gracie. Her face and her eyes as she danced around with her friends, and suddenly the music came flooding back to me, the poem that she sang,

Round and round the mulberry bush,
The mulberry bush,
The mulberry bush…

“Here we go round the mulberry bush,” I sang quietly, my mother crying on my shoulder, “On a Sunday morning…”