I get up at 5 a.m. to plan my escape. Priscilla only vaguely gets up at 10 a.m., and even then she is groggy for about two hours, till noon. By the time she is awake I will be five hours away. I’m confident that I can cover enough ground in this time.

I sit on the carpet of my room and in front of me I lay out the things I am taking. I have:

A Swiss Army knife

A warm fleece top

My cellphone (I turn it off though)

A small torch.

I want to take, but can’t access without leaving my room (or she and that dog might be alerted):

A little bottle of Dettol (bathroom)

Food (kitchen)

Water bottle (kitchen)

A lighter (kitchen drawer)

An extra knife (you can’t be too careful these days).

I dress quickly and quietly, and make my bed. I’m in dark leggings in case it gets cold, with a pair of denim shorts over. I choose a grey hoodie for the top.

My trainers are by the front door – that’s fine, I’ll slip them on as I leave.

I pack all my items into a backpack. Wearing socks, so as not to make a noise, I slip out of my room. Carefully I pass by Priscilla’s room. The door is open just a crack, and I can hear her snoring. It sounds like an engine starting up, with a microphone attached. Priscilla snores like a man.

I hurry into the kitchen. I have to get food, despite the risk. I take four slices of bread out of the bread bin, the whole time keeping an eye on the door. I spread peanut butter onto two slices, then cover them with two more. Nothing fancy. I wrap them in greaseproof paper and put them in my bag. I take four apples out of the fruit basket and throw them in too. I find my water bottle in the cupboard, and fill it with water.

I’ve heard that the biggest cause of death of people on desert islands is thirst. I’m not going to a desert island, but still I know I have to be careful with water, and not run out. I screw the lid onto the canister tightly and add it to my bag.

Then I do something I’m not exactly proud of – I raid my dad’s safe. He has told me only to access it in case of emergency. Well, this is an emergency, isn’t it? I punch in the security code – ABC50 – and the little light goes on. I take R100 from the emergency money envelope. I’ll pay him back. If I ever see him again.

I think about my mother right now, how I miss her. A tear threatens to wet my eye, so I focus on the task at hand, close the safe, and stand up.

I’m ready.

I leave, closing the front door ever so softly. As I move through the garden, I remember Toby. She’s where I left her. I can’t leave without burying her. It would feel wrong. I go to the corner of the garden where her body is lying like a dirty rag.

My heart leaps into my throat as I see her limp, lifeless, puppet body, mangled and twisted. It’s too early for the flies, yet I can see some animal has been eating her. I feel vomit rising through my throat again, but force it back – I’m doing a lot of growing up today.

I pick up a little trowel from a flowerbed. I kneel a little to the side of Toby’s mangled form and dig. After about five minutes I have fashioned a hole about the size of a shoebox. Toby deserves better, but it is all I have time for. I nudge what is left of Toby into the hole using the little spade. Then I cover her with the soil that’s lying scooped out on the side of the grave. There’s no stopping my tears now – they flow freely, making little wet circles on the earth as they splash down.

My beautiful Toby. I pick a flower from a plant nearby and place it on top of the grave when I am done. “You were too good for this world,” I whisper. “Rest in eternal peace, my love.” It breaks my heart to say these words.

I’m about to start crying louder. I don’t have time for this. “I love you Toby,” I whisper, before getting up and running towards the garden gate.

***

Tell us: Have you ever wanted to run away? Did you go through with it? If so, why or why not?