I’m a ball curled up.

I’m a glass thrown against rock.

Shattered. Bits of me everywhere.

I’ll never find them all.

No one will.

Crow whispers in my ear: ‘If you are a dead girl, you won’t feel. You won’t hurt.’

I turn my head into my pillow.

Say nothing.

‘Are you angry, Isobel-the-Catching? About the bread?’

She waits.

I keep saying nothing.

‘If you don’t eat, they make you. Sometimes bread, sometimes meat. Sometimes sleep – but not always.

Only when they want you for the Feed.’

She waits more. I’m still silent.

Crow stamps her foot. Long nails rake the ground.

‘What could I do? What can you do? Fetchers are never caught. They are never stopped. We have no claws or wings or bite. We can’t get away. No one gets away.’

No one gets away… ?

I push words through my hurt throat. ‘There are other girls?’

‘The Fetchers fetch. The Feed is fed. The girls come but never go.’

Crow’s voice is heavy. Sad.

The other girls are dead.

That’s not going to be me.

I sit up. ‘I’m getting out.’

‘I know how.’

‘Tell me, then!’

‘You must become a dead girl. A not-feeling girl.’

Dead inside? Stupid idea.

I slam my hand on the bed.

‘Tell me how to really escape!’

‘That is how! And you must be dead soon. Then you won’t mind being a grey girl.’

I stand. Glare. ‘I’m not going to be grey, Crow!’

Her mouth turns down. ‘Foolish not-a-dead-girl.’ She points to my arm. ‘You already are.’

I look at where she points.

There are fingermarks on my wrist. Where the Feed first touched me.

The marks are grey.

I scratch.

Dig.

But I can’t claw the horrible from myself.

I can’t make the colour come back.

‘It doesn’t come off,’ Crow says. ‘It is your grey. Like mine, but not. Everyone’s grey is their own.’

She leans closer and adds, ‘You wouldn’t mind so much if you were a dead girl.’

‘Get away from me!’ I snap.

Crow jumps back. ‘Fine! Put all your screams upon your shoulders and let them crush you.’

She hops into her corner.

I stare at my hand.

I want a knife. To cut it out of me.

That’s dumb.

If I get a knife, I’ll use it on the Feed.

The Feed took from me.

Left his mark on me.

Everyone can see it.

I don’t know how to stand this.

Only I do know.

The names.

Granny Trudy Catching…

Nanna Sadie Catching…

Grandma… Linda?

I can’t remember.

I’m glass thrown against rock.

My connections are broken.

I grab hold of bits of myself.

Push pieces back together.

Granny Trudy Catching…

Nanna Sadie Catching…

Grandma Leslie Catching…

Grandma Leslie Catching.

My mother’s mother.

Mum’s voice speaks:

The law that let the government take Aboriginal children lasted for generations. They came for your Grandma when she was a kid, just as they’d come for her mum before her. But your Grandma didn’t get away.

They put her in a bad place. One of the worst places. She thought her mum would save her. Until an older kid told her how it was. The mothers weren’t told where their kids had been taken to. And the government never gave anyone back. That was when your grandma knew she’d have to live through hard day after hard day. She worried she couldn’t do it. That she wasn’t tough enough. Then she remembered the rocks of her homeland. Old rocks. Rocks that had lived for millions of years.

Your Grandma made herself strong like rock. She survived hard times. She survived hard years. She got through until she was grown up. Then she went looking for her mum, who’d never stopped looking for her.

Your grandmother knew how to endure.

I’m not glass thrown against rock.

I am the rock.

I can endure.

As long as I remember where I come from.

Who I come from.

Crow can help me with that.

I can’t tell her the names out loud.

But I don’t have to.

Just who they are to me.

‘Crow? I need you to do something.’

Silence.

‘I need you to say some names with me.’

More silence.

‘Come out and help!’

‘I did help.’

She’s sulking.

Because I didn’t like her twisted idea.

She’s messed up. But I need her.

‘Crow? I’ll think about being a dead not-feeling girl.’

She bounces out of the shadows. ‘Really?’

No. ‘Yes. So long as you learn some words.’

‘I am good at words!’

I say the names.

She repeats them.

We say them together.

‘Granny …’ Trudy Catching

‘Nanna …’ Sadie Catching

‘Grandma …’ Leslie Catching

‘Mum …’ Rhonda Catching

‘Me.’

Even if I forget again, Crow will remember.

I’ll endure.

Until I get away.

Until the Feed knows fear.

That fear will wear my face.

Speak with my voice.

And I’ll be terrifying.