Notice - Short Story

Notice


I stare through the window at the storming rain outside. I hear them complaining about the gloominess, and dream of a time when I would do the same. Yet, I long to be out there, and something such as the weather does not seem to matter anymore. I dream of a time when to me it seemed to matter, and to them, I seemed to matter. The heating is turned on, yet the house feels cold.


I don’t remember when they started fighting, but ever since they did, I’ve been feeling like a whole lot….less. This state of insignificance feels inescapable. It is as if I don’t have a voice anymore…not...not that I ever really did. I’ve tried to talk to them, but it appears that they never really understand what I’m trying to say; they never really notice. I’m slowly starting to feel more and more invisible. They are so caught up in hating each other, that they just keep forgetting me. I miss the days when we’d go to the park. I miss the runs on the beach; she was always such a good athlete, and I could never be sure if she was struggling to keep up with me, or if I was struggling to keep up with her. He isn’t much of an athletic type, but we’d always played and played and played, and I know he enjoyed it just as much as I did. That spark of happiness on his face….it’s all gone now. That’s what I miss. I miss seeing the excitement they had, just to see me when they’d come home from work. They think they’d had a long day; I know mine felt longer. They’ve been busy but so have I. Busy doing, well, nothing more than I’m doing right now - staring out the window. I’m stuck here wishing. Wishing I could somehow express all this agony. Sometimes I wish I was able to cry, or storm out of here in frustration; oh well, I guess not everyone is that lucky.


Footsteps are coming down the stairs. I want to make my move: I’ll tell them how I feel and hope that maybe...just maybe they’ll somewhat understand. As they come closer I recognize arguing by the tone of their voices. I have no idea what it’s about this time, but I know I have to speak out regardless. I walk right over and try to ask if I can go outside. I want to suggest that maybe we could all go out for a walk when the rain stops, but I’m interrupted.


“Be quiet!” I’m shouted at with a semi-angry tone. I understand that now is not right the time. Then again, when is it ever the right time? I tried, but I saw no difference. I go to the lay on the couch in the other room, away from all the mess. The lights are on, but this house feels dark.


Being picked always seemed like it would be the most wonderful thing. Now, my perspective has started to change. I always thought I was one of the lucky ones that found his place in the world. I no longer feel lucky. They don’t see me as part of the family anymore; it is as if they just...own me now, or at least it seems that’s how they view it. So I sit here and keep wishing. Wishing and dreaming of a better life.


“Screeeeech.” - The terrible sound of a poorly closed, poorly maintained, un-oiled door seeps through my eardrum. They act as if they can’t hear it, but it always makes my ears stand straight. They’ve left, although it doesn't really make a difference. I get up to go lay on the couch in the living room. They don’t want me sitting on it anymore these days, but when they’re not around I like to do so anyway. It smells like them; it smells like memories. I head towards the living room when something strikes me from the corner of my eye: the front door has been left the slightest bit open. My head fills with excitement. I wait a minute or two, just make sure they’ve left. I hear the car driving off, and I know this is my chance. The chance I have been waiting for. It has even stopped raining. I push the door open with my legs, and bolt - a four-legged sprint towards the vast nearby field. I’ve been waiting for this fresh air; it smells like freedom and opportunities. It smells like other people and another chance to find my place. I keep running. Maybe now they’ll notice.