February 11th, 2008

When I come to, the girl is gently applying a wet cloth to the throbbing welt between my eyes. I can taste blodd in my mouth and I lean to the side to spit out a wad of sticky mucous.

The girl retreats a couple strides at such a gesture. I imagine that she's got some well deserved trust issues.

"Thanks", I say to her.

She looks at me blankly and tilts her head slightly the way I remember dogs used to do.

Pointing to the blue-black bruise on my head, "Good aim", I say to her without the slightest hint of reciprocation. Looking around and getting my bearings I can see that she helped herself to my rotisserie feline, and was generous enough to leave me the scraps. Picking up the spit I tear some of the charred meat off between my teeth and slowly chew. Looking at this little girl, I can't help but wonder where she's been hiding all this time and more importantly, how she's still alive.

Her face is covered in a layer of soot, mud, and probably some other unsavory elements. All of her clothes are faded, tattered versions of their formal selves with only the slightest trace of brand names synonymous with cute, girly stuff.

I realize then that she's looking at me in much the same fashion as I am at her. I can see her mouthing some words as if she has a question lurking somewhere inside her vocal chords waiting to be set free.

"Uh," I swallow my cat meat,"My name's Brian"

She looks at me blankly.

"Brian,"I say again, pointing to myself with the spit.

Her eyes search an invisible surface as her brain tries to figure out what comes next. Her little face scrunches up as her brow furrows in search of a reply.

"A-" she struggles,"A...na...belle."

I smile for the first time in months at her brave little display and I reply,"Anabelle. Well, that's a pretty name."

She sniffs a string of snot back into her nostril.

Our Kodak moment is cut short when a terrible tremor shakes the earth underneath us. The black leaves in the trees break free and flutter down like the ashen remains of the dead being cremated. I curse to myself and try to make heads or tales of the earthquake. Anabelle doesn't make any noise but it's clear by the look of terror on her face that she's been in this situation before. She looks me in the eye and I can see a terrible sense of urgency lurking beneath her earthen mask.

That's all the explanation I need. I jump to my feet, throw my bag over my shoulder and as I'm making ready to leave Anabelle grabs hold of my hand and squeezes it tightly. Surprisingly tight for a girl her age. She leads me like an overgrown child through the brush and I try to keep the tough vegetation from scraping at my face.

After a few minutes of this frustrating, painful game of bob and weave we emerge out of the vegetation into what looks like an old skytrain tunnel. Running along the tracks, the sound of the tremors is amplified a hundred fold and the pressure on my eardrums is enough to make me wince. Finally we arrive at a skytrain platform and anabelle scrambles up onto its surface. I follow suit in a less agile fasion and then she's got me by the hand again and urgently pulling me along to our destination, wherever that may be.

We scurry across the platform, the sounds of the tremors seeming to fade slightly, and we reach a door with a little depiction of a man on it. Anabelle opens the door and we duck inside.

With the door closed, it's pitch black and I'm about to open my mouth to inquire as to where we are when a match is struck and a candle lit. I turn around to see Anabelle placing the candle down into a white object mounted on the wall, which I recognize to be a urinal as my eyes adjust.

"Huh." I grunt as I look around at this little public bathroom which has since been converted into a little girl's living quarters.

The tremors from outside fade and I look down at Anabelle who's looking up at me with a book in her hands. I kneel down so that I'm face to face with her and she extends the book toward me.

Opening it, I see childish scribbles and doodles which I can't make any sense of. I look back at Anabelle, completely confused.

Frustrated, she grabs the book from me and systematically flips to a page somewhere in the middle and shoves the book back into my hands, stamping her finger down on a picture scribbled out in green crayola.

Looking down at the page, I see a large snake-like thing amidst a collection of what look like office buildings.

Anabelle grunts and I look back to her. She points upwards and makes an avalanche sound with her mouth. My eyes go to the ceiling and after a moment I look back down at her and then the book.

"You saw this?" I ask her. No longer taken by the cuteness of this little book full of a your girl's scribbles. I hear no reply.

Snapping my attention to her I ask a second time in a shaking voice,"You saw this!?" as I jab my finger down onto the mammoth, serpentine creature slithering its way through downtown crayola-town.

She slowly nods her head; eyes unblinking, burning with an intensity that no child should possess