Young Writers Society

60 minutes.

I will have been invisible for exactly one year tomorrow. It’s 11:00 right now, only 60 minutes, one hour to go. I don’t know what I’m expecting, really, but I’m hoping something great. Being like this has been nothing but torture.

I used to wish I could just disappear, but this is not what I meant. This is a cruel, cruel twist of fait, a painful injection of irony. I was struggling with reality, I was feeling hopeless and out of control. I remember lying in bed, praying silently to myself that I could lay there forever and no one would ever have to see me again.

I was so insecure, insecure and tired. So, so, so tired. The weight and responsibility of school was taking its toll on my body, and especially my state of mind. I wanted to not exist anymore. I wanted to crawl into a hole and never have to come out. Coming out would mean I would have to have more responsibilities. I had even started to think about killing myself.

55 minutes.

The day I woke up and couldn’t see myself was now exactly 364 days and 55 minutes away. I remember walking to my bathroom, looking in the mirror, and to my horror, not see my bed head and drool-covered face staring back at me. After a few minutes, I fainted.

I woke up on the floor, and when I looked in the mirror again, I still wasn’t there. When I look down, I can see myself, still in the pajamas I fell asleep in a year ago: My school t-shirt, and long pajama pants. But when I looked in the mirror, I couldn’t see anything. I ran into my parent’s room and yelled for them to wake up, but they couldn’t hear my voice. No one could. No one can.

52 minutes.

I tried all the obvious things, ripping the covers off my parents and sister’s beds, trying to get their attention, but things fall right through my fingers. I can’t hold anything. I know what you’re thinking, how do you eat? How do you go to the bathroom? The answer? I don’t. I just don’t have to.

And now I know what you're thinking: Are you sure you aren’t dead? Maybe you’re ghost? I have that answer for you, too. If I was dead, I would have seen my body. My parents would have found my body. But I’m still in my body, but no one can see it. No one can see me.

47 minutes.

I remember watching my parents walk into my room to see if I was awake and ready for school. I remember them calling my name, and I remember screaming to them, trying to tell them I’m here! I’m right here! Mom, look at me! Dad, why can’t you see me? I remember trying to tug at their clothes as they searched the house for me. I remember running after the car as they drove around the neighborhood looking for me, and I remember collapsing on the floor as they called the police and reported me missing.

43 minutes.

Watching my sister was just as bad. Watching her look at my parents, watching her confused expression as they told her that she didn’t have to go to school that day, watching her calling my phone, and watching her face change as she found it on my nightstand. I couldn't talk for days after screaming at my family for so long. It was pointless, though. They couldn’t hear me.

40 minutes.

It was awful watching the police search through my room. They went through all my private things, my closet, everything. I remember the look on my parents face when the police opened the drawer that I would hide candy wrappers in so they couldn’t find them, and their faces when the cops looked though the pile of clothes I stacked on my chair. What I hated most is they went through my sketch books. All my private doodles, all my drawings, all my artwork. I tried pounding on their backs, I tried pulling their hair, I was so angry that they had invaded my privacy like that, even if it was in my best interest. After a while, I realized that I couldn’t do anything about it. I sat in the corner of my room, just watching them.

38 minutes.

After a few days, I got fed up with sitting around my house. I was bored and depressed, and I needed to get out. I don’t know why, but the fist place I went to was the place I hated most: my school. To my surprise, my campus was littered with posters and campaigns all about me. There was a poster on every door, in every bathroom, in every classroom with my picture on it. I was happy with the pictures my parents and the police chose for the posters, it was my soccer picture, one I actually really liked. I was the talk of the school, everyone was wondering what had happened to me. Even the kids that didn’t like me were talking about me. I followed kids and teachers around the entire day. Words could not describe how miserable I was, how miserable I am, but being invisible has its perks. I got to see the entire school, I got to follow the kids who sneak behind the big green dumpsters to smoke, I got to listen to private conversations. I learned things about students that I had never known before, things they probably didn’t want me to know.

30 minutes.

Seeing my friends broke my heart. They, with my parents, were the driving force behind all the search for me. They made t-shirts, wristbands, stickers, all kinds of stuff just for me. I couldn’t believe how much they were doing, and how devastated they were. They cried a lot more than I thought they would, and all I could do was sit and watch. I remember one time when my best friend broke down in the bathrooms. She went into a handicapped stall and cried for almost fifteen minutes. I sat next to her and warped my arms around her, rested my head on her shoulder, and cried with her. I felt so hopeless because I couldn't do a single thing to make her notice me to make her notice I was there. I remember walking with her to the mirror, and I watched as she wiped her red, puffy eyes. I stared into the mirror myself. Usually, I hated looking at myself in school. I would give anything to do that right now. I’m getting sick of only being able to look at my body from my point of view, when I look down. I want to see my face.

26 minutes.

After about three weeks, school and the house was too small for me. I couldn’t keep watching my family lose hope. I went into town for a while, and I got onto a bus that took me to the big city we live near. I was beyond shocked to find my posters scattered around the city as well. I felt like a celebrity. I was even on the news a couple of times.In the city, I snuck into concerts, government meetings, all kind of stuff. At this point, I was almost having fun. I was going all sorts of places I would never ever be allowed. But I wasn’t happy. My family and friends were constantly in the back of my mind. I haven’t been truly happy since I’ve disappeared. And even though I was doing lots of fun things, I saw lots of horrible, horrible things in the city as well. I saw a man get mugged, and I was the only one around. I couldn’t scream for help, of course. I just watched and ran away. I couldn't have done anything.

22 minutes.

I can feel myself silently losing my mind from the lack of people talking to me. One thing I like to do to keep busy is look at the stars and make my own constellations. I’ve created so many stories for the stars, my favorite being a story about a boy named Milo. In my mind, Milo lived in a time hundreds of years ago. He was the son of a rich lord, and he knew a huge secret about the king of his city. The government was paying him to keep quiet, but he was secretly using the money to start a rebellion against the aristocracy and royals. His constellation kind of looks like a stick figure holding a sword, and some stars behind him look like smaller people. He was the leader of his rebellion

17 minutes.

I’ve been outside the city. One time, I went on a plane all the way to Chicago, but after about a day I felt guilty about being away from my family and flew back home. It was weird sneaking onto a plane, I strolled right through the security line. I had already walked past countless barriers and lines before, but because my family traveled a lot, the security line was a thing I was very familiar with. Walking around it felt like the ultimate sin. My family hasn’t traveled since I’ve disappeared.

15 minutes

In the current moment, I sit in a really nice hotel room in the city close to where my house is. I haven’t been back to my house in 4 months. I feel like I need to be home for my one year anniversary. I really don’t want to be there, because I know there will be some sort of recognition event for me. I don’t want to see my family’s faces, I don’t want to see the hope drained from their eyes. Why doI feel so guilty? I didn’t mean to make myself like this. I’ve wondered before if this is my fault, if I’ve somehow made myself like this. It seems impossible and a thing of magic, but I’m invisible. Nothing really makes any sense.

12 minutes.

I walk out of the hotel room and down through the lobby. I’ve gotten used to walking places without people noticing me. I wait for someone else to open the door so I can slip through with them. I walk down the snowy road in my pajamas, not feeling the cold. Physically, I can’t feel anything anymore. I sit next to an old woman at the bus stop. I’ve seen her many times before, I know her entire story. Her son is in the marines, and her daughter trains animals for movies. After a while of nothing to do, you start wondering about the people you see often. Being invisible is a perk, you can follow them without them knowing. Now, I know a lot about the people in my area. The bus pulls in front of us in a cloud of steam. The old lady hobbles her way up the stairs, drops her money in, and takes her usual seat in the back. I breeze past the driver, who’s been divorced twice and has a son in Oklahoma he doesn’t know about. I plop into a seat next to a guy about my age who I’ve never seen before. He has earbuds in, and I see on his phone he’s listening to one of my favorite bands. I wish I could talk to him.

6 minutes.

The bus pulls up to my stop, and I dismount it along with the 3 other people that share their stop with me. To my surprise, the boy that I sat next to got off along with us. My house is only about a three minute walk away from the bus stop, so I start my trek through the snow. The houses in my neighborhood are decorated with strings of multicolored christmas lights that reflect their colors off the snow. My family used to go all out on our christmas lights, but as I approach the house, its all dark.

2 minutes.

I’m standing outside my house. I know I only have two minutes before its my official one year anniversary, as I fell asleep one year ago with my watch on. My heart is bating quickly. I don’t know what I’m expecting, but I’m praying something, anything will happen. As I stare at my house, a light turns on in the kitchen, startling me. Through the window, I see my sister. She looks like she’s making tea. I bet she can’t sleep. She grew a lot since the last time I saw her, four months ago. She cut her long, curly black hair to her chin. She always hated it being too long. She’s wearing a light pink t-shirt- my light pink t shirt. I’ve always loved that shirt, because I think the light pink is a nice color on our dark skin.

1 minute.

My heart is pounding out of my chest, I don’t know what to do with myself. I can’t go into the house because I can't open the door. I walk a few feet cooer to the window, so I’m maybe seven feet away. I stand in the snow, and my sister looks out of the window, right at me. But she doesn’t see me. She looks right through me.

30 seconds.

The neighbor’s flickering christmas lights, along with the stars and crescent moon, are the only thing providing light through the snowy night.

15 seconds.

I’m wringing my hands in nervousness. It’s a habit I developed a while ago.

5 seconds.

I hold my breath. My heart is pounding out of my chest. I can’t breathe.

For the first time in a year, my watch beeps. The noise slices through the winter air like a knife.

My sister, staring through the window, drops her mug. My bare feet suddenly feel the piercing cold of the snow.