cassie o’shea / d7 / fin

I am a child of the forest. I was born here, raised here. I will live here, and I hope that I will die here as well. I run through the woods like a child full of reckless abandon, my feet caked in dirt and leaves. I can name every single plant and grass I pass. They know so much about me. It’s only fair that I know as much as I can about them. The earth is my home, and I take care of her as best as I can.

For my birthday, my mother gave me crystals, precious gifts carefully wrapped in a quilt square. I don’t know where she got them from, but I know better than to ask. I accepted them without question and took them out to the back porch to observe them alone. They glistened in the sun, brilliant chunks of rock. When I closed my eyes, I could feel their energies, pulsing through my skin and into my veins.

I arranged them in a row on my bedroom windowsill so they can absorb the energies from the sun. Sometimes, my little sister will mess the line up, but I never get mad at her. She’s a child, it’s what they do. I know she’s only upset because she wants the bed near the window, but I’m the oldest, so I get to pick where I sleep. All four of us have to share a bedroom. We’re better off than our parents, who sleep in a mattress out in the living room.

My mother is a nanny, taking care of the children of the richer people in the district. She is not around most of the time, having to work long hours to make ends meet. My stepfather is a logger for one of the smaller manufacturers. He also works as much as he can, so we don’t see our parents often. We barely have enough money at the end of the month to pay rent, let alone to purchase food and other necessities, so I have to pick up odd jobs where I can. It’s hard trying to both work and take care of my siblings, but I won’t complain. I know it’s necessary.

I love the days where my entire family is together. It doesn’t happen often, which makes it all the more special. We all work together to make dinner, and then we eat it together at the kitchen table, chatting about our days and what we’ve been up to. My siblings will all try to outdo each other with their stories, and I’ll just watch and laugh. It makes me feel like we’re actually a family and not just people who are working to taking care of each other.

I am the only child in the family who was not fathered by my stepdad. To my siblings, he’s just “dad”. I don’t really know much about my actual father. I know my mother was madly in love with him, but he left her once he got her pregnant. I figure that’s all I need to know about him. If he was capable of doing something so awful, he’s not anybody I want in my life.

I wonder what’s going to happen when I grow older and leave the house. I suppose it’ll be up to the next oldest sibling to take care of things. What if I never end up leaving? What if I’m stuck here, a pseudo-parent for the rest of my life? I try not to worry about it. I do love my family, and I know my work is necessary, but sometimes, I just want to be free. I want to run off into the forest and never come back.

When I wake up every morning, I touch my crystals. I press my fingertips to their rocky surfaces, warm from the fresh sunlight, and try to absorb what I can from them. I wonder if they, too, feel trapped, stuck on my windowsill for the foreseeable future. I hope they don’t. Sometimes, they feel like all I have. I don’t know how I could let them go. Maybe that’s how my parents feel about me.

I don’t know.