Under the Bed

My head pounds in time with the beating in my chest, adrenaline spiking and pumping through my veins. Silence is all I need, but the blood thudding loudly in my ears makes me deaf to my harsh breath, wheezing and calling to you like a beacon in the dark. My distress signal is loud, giving away my hiding space beneath the bed; I thought the draped sheets hid me well, but a firm grip on my ankle tells me otherwise. I slide back, inch by inch, grasping carpet to remain wedged, but to no avail.

The blinding sunlight streams through the window and falls across your smiling face.

"Gotcha!"

I shriek.

"Tag, Mommy, you're it!"