I rescued a family, yet I couldn’t keep them together. No talking, no laughing, no crying.  Nothing was all they could do in the lightest hours. It seems as if living with me was death’s version of hide and seek. The silence was louder than the pouring rain hitting me with each drop. The ones I hide only spoke at night. 

I could sense their fear. I could hear their anger boiling inside them, almost as if I could smell the flames. It never crossed my mind that you could feel hatred for someone who wishes for your survival. The family fought like dogs. Their arguments rattled me with their stomps of frustration. If only an attic could speak. If I could tell them how to win their deathly game. Tolerance was what it was. Tolerance was what they needed to find peace.

Stealing seemed to be the solution. A grown man became a rat searching for their dinner. The food called his name. The battle of Mrs. Frank and Mr.Van Dann began. A war had broken out. The sight of it worried me.

If only they could understand what they needed. If only I could touch their thoughts and change them. I would have to wait for them to find it their own way. Agonizing is how I would describe it. Watching, waiting, wondering if they’ll ever figure it out. The key to victory. If only they knew how to tolerate each other, how it could keep them together.

Mr.Frank saved his family once again. The father saved them all. Tolerate, tolerate, tolerate, was what he told them. The dust that fell from me must've knocked some sense into Mr.Frank, into all of them. They came together as one, even if it wasn't for forever. Only their savior made it out alive. They had lost their deathly game, but lost with a fight. A fight that came from tolerating each other. A fight from a family who once lived their lives without my help.