I heard someone call for Talia, and I turned around. It’s been over a decade since anyone called me by that name. Not since I moved away and changed it. Yet here I am turning around with fear crawling up my back.   

Talia is not my name. I remember her, a little girl who was forbidden to dream and was scared to live. You will never meet her, I don’t think you will. Even if the woman I once called my mother would have shouted after me by that name, and even if I’d turned around and talked to her, she wouldn’t be talking with Talia. That is a fact.  And yet here I am with a raised heartbeat reacting to the sound of that name as if it were mine, and as if there was someone to fear.   

‘Talia! Talia! Come here. Now!’   

I feel the cold of the wooden flooring on my face. I watch the dust as it lifts and floats, resisting gravity; I breathe it in. The ashes invade my lungs, sink through my veins into the bloodstream, and circulate through every inch of my body. I can feel it all, and I understand the process clearly, yet I am powerless and can’t stop it.  

There is a life outside of me that I can hear beneath the wooden boards. Who’s there? I ask in a whisper and close my eyes, hoping to sharpen my senses.  There is no answer, but I feel the movement of something that is there, a little thing that is alive and crawling. It tickles, and I turn onto my back. My hands lay flat at my sides before I drive my claw fingers into the rough softness of the wood. Holding on to it, I open my eyes.   

Dark, oppressive walls close in, and the ceiling feels dangerously low; it’s crushing me. Everything feels so familiar, yet so distant and cold, with the sad, empty walls and thick, dusty curtains blocking the light. It is where you defined who Talia was. I can’t watch the world around me collapse and close my eyes, wishing to be elsewhere. I remember now. I recognise this house.  

‘Talia, for fuck’s sake, come here right now!’   

My whole body feels weighted, and I can’t move. I know I don’t belong here, not in this world. This is your world, so why am I back here? I scream in an effort to lift myself off the floor. It’s all an illusion, I know that; you are not here, and I am not here. It’s been decades since we abandoned this house to rot away. Are these its current inhabitants that I can hear through the boards? Is this abandoned house a happy house for once? Within its ruins, giving shelter to the little beasts. I remember frogs living beneath the floor during the colder months; sometimes, uninvited, they would come out into the rooms. Bees reside between the bricks. It was a lively home, a shelter for creatures of different types, yet not for a human child.   

‘Talia! Taaalia!!’ 

It’s my mother’s voice that I hear; it echoes in my head as I lose consciousness. Not for long, though, as a stream of light, the warmth of the morning sun wakes me up. It must be early, the grass will be wet and cold from the morning dew, refreshing.  The happy tune of the birds singing welcomes a new day in an emotional way. There was some beauty to this house; the cold, the ugly, the unloving and unforgiving house, and yet all that was around it was warm and welcoming. I let go of the floor.   

I want to get up, and this time with a bit of lightness, I manage to stand up and look around. But where are the windows, and where is the door? The walls that were collapsing are now high, reaching up into the sky. White and chilling, so where did the light come from? Where is it? I close my eyes, hoping to feel its warmth again. I turn to the left and then around. No matter which way I face, there is nothing there. Emptiness and silence. The chirping is gone. Was it all in my head?  

This is a place of no escape, or so it seems. Yet, I know I’ve managed to break out of here before, so there is a way. There must be a way, I just need to remember.  All I need to do is remember my name.   

Talia is not my name.   

In the corner, I noticed an old rocking chair. Was it there before? An aged rocking chair, imperfect yet beautiful. I sit it in, and I let it move, back and forth, back and forth. It creaks, and it reminds me of that one time when my father was sleeping in that very chair. Taking his nap on a hot afternoon. How old was I? Maybe four, sitting on his lap, head on his chest. I felt it move up and down, up as he was taking a breath and down as he was breathing out. It had a calming effect. Hypnotised, I pretended to sleep.  

‘Talia!… Talia!’   

It is not my name!!!  I know it now, my name is…  

‘Mom, mom!’  

The walls are crushing, the ceiling goes down, but it is all an illusion, and I am still alive. I see the frogs, and I see the bees; they smile at me. There is wind in my hair, and there is warm light on my face.  I leave the house in ruins behind me, and I move on.    

‘Mom, Mom! Let’s go home.’ He runs towards me, smiling. ‘I am hungry. Can we go home now, please?’ I smile at him. ‘Let’s go home!’ 

I remember… 

Julia Braun Raven

Hi, I’m Julia Braun Raven, a second-year Journalism, Media & Creative Writing student. I’m co-Editor-in-Chief and Features Editor, and I love creating stories that matter to students, inspiring them, supporting what they’re passionate about, and celebrating their achievements. I’m especially interested in arts, culture, and student life, and I enjoy bringing energy, curiosity, and a love of storytelling to every piece I work on.