The morning goes the same as usual.  Breakfast is a corner of wheat toast with margarine or something on it.  A thimble filled with water is also place near the table for us to get a few handfuls to drink.  With this done, we are all taken over to the classroom.  Julia looks especially excited today.

                “Okay, class.  Today, before we start regular lessons, we’re going to talk a little about the school play we’re going to be doing!” she says, her smile very wide.  She rubs her hands together as she says it, gleeful.  I’m not quite sure what to make of this yet.

                “It’s an original musical I’ve written called Heartfelt.  I’m still working on a couple of the songs, but while I finish it, we’re going to have auditions later this week!  So, I’ll need you all to look over this music…” she says, placing the computer screen in front of us, where we can see several lines from another song she decided she could write, since she apparently has decided she’s a composer too. 

                Great.  I’ll bet we’re going to have to compliment the songs until we’re blue in the face to keep our heads above water.

                “Copy it down, and try your best to learn it.  Now, let’s get back to lessons…”

                Suddenly, however, I hear a soft moaning sound.  I turn to see Anna bending over in her chair, retching, before puking right onto the desk.  Brian gets up quickly to help her sit upright in her chair again.

                “What happened?” says Julia, leaning far in so she can see.  “Did you throw up, Anna?”

                Anna nods readily, trying to wipe her face off.

                “Do you need me to take you to the bathroom?”

                Anna nods again and gets out of her seat slowly, walking to the edge of the desk, where Julia picks her up and walks out of the room, closing the door behind her.  At that second, Brian stands up, staring straight ahead, focusing.  I stare at him strangely for a minute before realizing what he’s looking at. 

                The computer.  Julia left it on the desk in her hurry to get Anna to the bathroom.

                Brian is already dashing forward to the computer, clambering up onto the keyboard, and yanking the little mouse nub around to bring up the e-mail program in Julia’s computer.

                “Hurry, Brian, more to the left…” calls Kelly, climbing up on the keyboard too and going for the left side of the keyboard to operate the letters.  With a little more tugging, Brian has the arrow over an icon.  I scamper over too and slam my elbow down twice in quick succession on the selection key, opening the program up while Gina runs up, taking the right side of the letter keys.

                “Argh!” grunts Brian, his shoulders already getting a bit tired from the awkward position he has to tug from.  He navigates the arrow to the new message tab and I clicks.  I feel cold sweat streaming down my back already.  None of us have had time to really think about what we’re doing.  But now that I have short second-long intervals before I have to click again to think, I realize what we’re doing.  There’s no going back.  One of our most explicit rules is to never, ever lay a hand or foot on the computer.  If this doesn’t send off in time, we won’t have enough warning time before Julia comes back in.  And despite my better judgment, my mind is already streaming with images of what’s going to go down if Julia were to walk in on all of us at the same time. 

                The things she’d do to us.  The fact that pretty much any part of her body could kill us slowly and painfully in some way.      Our bones crunched like grass twigs in her fingers.  Our bodies mushed into a bloody pulp by her teeth, digested by her stomach acid. 

                And that’s just what we’ve seen her do. 

                Only one other of us had ever attempted an escape, so only once had we been exposed to the extreme power and cruelty of the girl.  I shuddered to imagine what other creative things she could come up with.  Whatever it would be, it would surely be historic.

                Then, my mind strangely goes to Anna.  It’s not that I’m not worried about her, but in the heat of the moment where we may or may not be digging our own graves it seems like I’d be thinking more about the situation at hand, but I’m not.  It was something strange about Anna when she upchucked.  I can’t place it…

                “JACK!  WHAT ARE YOU DOING?  CLICK IT AGAIN!” yells Brian, waking me from my trance.  I shake my head around and slam the key again to replace the arrow on the email.  Already it’s partially in progress.  It’s addressed to Brian’s sister, beth12@cardiofitness.com.  We’ve had a while to talk, so I know about this a bit.  Brian’s sister Beth is his only sibling, and they were apparently very close, especially since their parents died when they were young teens.  He has other friends, but she’s one of his best, and she apparently checks her email often since she has it on her phone, since she doesn’t have much time on the computer working as a trainer at a local gym.  At least, that’s how it was when he last saw her over a year and a half ago.

                It doesn’t matter.  Already part of the message is tapped out: “itsbrianimalivetrapped.”

                “Did she do that on purpose?” I call out to Brian, who, for a moment, as a break as the letters are being typed out.  He quickly stamps on an “n” as the address is typed out.

                “No.  No, that was real.”

                “Was she just sick?  What happened?” I ask.

                Brian looks at me kind of funny.  “You might say that…” he says before hitting another letter.  “Get your ass up here.  We won’t be able to even think about that if Julia walks through that door in a second.  Hurry!”

                I step forward, helping them to hit the letters as Brian calls out the next letter, being the only one who actually knows the precise address of this house. 

                I might say what?  What’s going on?

                And then it hits me.  Soft sounds I’ve heard over the last few months in the tiny hallway of the dollhouse.  It’s not something in the wall, or just two of the others comforting each other.  It was Brian and Anna.  Together.  Anna’s not sick. 

                She’s pregnant.

                I don’t have long to think about this.  The full message is typed out.  I run back to my post as Brian pushes against the mouse tab until it’s on send.

                “CLICK IT NOW!” yells Brian and I lunge down on the key with full force.  The message begins to send.  C’mon, c’mon.  My heart beat rises to a crazy level.  It almost hurts waiting. 

                Watching the hourglass symbol. 

                Change. 

                Change. 

                Change. 

                I haven’t wanted something this much in a very long time.  Come to think of it, I stopped wanting “things” two years ago.  But now it’s awakened.  If it just goes through, we might have a chance of escaping this surreal dream we’re all stuck in.

                “It’s not WORKING!” calls Kelly, pressing a few keys in vain.  She’s right.  Nothing happens for a moment, and then a window pops up.

                “Microsoft Outlook has stopped working.  Would you like to close the program now?”

                “FUCK YOU!” screams Brian at the screen.  It all fades from color, signifying the failure of the program.

                “We have to back up now.  Close the program.  If we don’t…” starts Gina.

                “NO!  IT’S GOING TO GO THROUGH.  GOD DAMN IT, SEND!  SEND!” roars Brian, rushing forward and pressing his face against the screen, pounding his fists on it.  With no help from Brian anymore, the remaining three of us quickly set about closing the program.  Hope of immediate escape is gone.  At this instant, our only thought is to cut our losses and cover the tracks of the failed attempt.  I don’t even have time to be distraught that the email didn’t go through, we’re moving too quickly.

                With some quick group effort, the three of us manage to close the email program and bring the music studio program back up with the audition music.  Then, the three of us dash off the keyboard back to the classroom, but I turn to see Brian pounding his ineffectual fists against the screen.  I can hear him crying.

                “Brian!  It’s too late!  We’ll try again next time it’s up, but you’ve got to come NOW!” I yell back at him.  And then I hear it.  Footsteps, slamming.  Probably running down the hallway.  Julia’s coming back.  Not really knowing what I’m doing, I dash back up onto the keyboard and grab Brian around the waist, dragging him backward.

                “Get the fuck off me, Jack.  It’s not worth it anymore.”

                “Yes it is.”

                “No it’s not.  What worth is it living like this?  Look at us.  WE’RE FUCKING HAMSTERS, JACK.  Hamsters.  A fucking hamster, damn it…” says Brian, his broken sobs sort of changing into a pathetic chuckle.  I punch him in the face to get his attention, not hard, but hard enough.  He stops laughing and stares at me strangely, as if I was an alien, while rubbing thoughtfully at the spot where I punched him.

                “Stop it.  You have to come.”

                “Why?”

                “Because you’re going to be a father, you idiot.”

                He looks at me again, rage in his eyes, and stops struggling.  He has nothing to say.

                It’s at that moment, as Brian and I continue standing on the keyboard, that the door swings open again and Julia strides in, cupping Anna in her left hand.