MoralMonster

I hide.

The carpet is scratchy. I ignore my goosebumps. There is black against my brain, and I dive into the emptiness.

I lie on the floor and push myself up. I am the London Bridge, and I am falling down. Ashes in my mouth.

My sister is in the other room and I cannot go see her.

I push myself up. I fall down. I arch my back and concentrate on the saltiness in my mouth and the rug burns on my elbows.

When my hands are free I rub the burns and lower my head.

My sister wants in but she cannot come. I see them talking to her in the other room and my elbows burn. I cough and spit, and crane my neck to see my pretty sisters curly top. I see her ribbons through the window.

She cannot see me. I am invisible.

I do not exist, and I am hot, sweaty, and I am London Bridge.

I have fallen down.

petrel}

interesting. I like how you put yourself in the shoes(or rug burned elbows?) of a imaginative child. I'm just a little confused as to who are the 'them ' in the line
are they the parents of this invisible, fallen 'bridge'?
petrel}

__________________
A man's subconscious self is not the ideal companion. It lurks for the greater part of his life in some dark den of its own, hidden away, and emerges only to taunt and deride and increase the misery of a miserable hour.

P. G. Wodehouse, Uneasy Money