Hey peoples. I am not real sure what persuaded me to write this. I just had an itching feeling to open up Microsoft word and this is what came of it. It is a bit darker than what I usually write but you get that sometimes.
Anyways .. I hope you all enjoy it. And all critique is absolutely welcome.
Tear this story apart if you want. I encourage you to! It helps me develop as a writer and that is always welcomed.
Here it is:
A silhouette of dark, deep fear resided in that house. Its fear penetrated the walls, the floor, the rooms even the surrounding gardens. Dead, or withering, dying plants surrounded the tomb of the ghostly presence. Its dread hung low in a shroud of misty song.
A breath of the trees creaked the foundations of the building, made it sway dangerously to leer its ever-watching eyes to the outside world. The people who walked by could hear her screams every night: giving the house a glance of fear and alertness. But no one helped.
No one ever ran inside that demon belly of a house and drown those cries of helplessness out of their minds because they knew they could not. Would not.
That poor woman was by herself. She was alone, stranded in between mind alertness and unconsciousness. Straying in and out of thoughtless horror like the leaves of the old willows tree that stood by the riverside near the house in a storm.
Ferocious, deadly senses pierced into her mind. Slowly scraping away the layers of the last bit of her soul that she should call her own. Every day, every week was a second like this. Her thoughts of pain and suffering did not matter, ever.
She could not tell anyone of her pain. No one could hear her, and even if they could, she thought that they would not listen in the first place.
* * *
A soft petal of a dying rose fell from the windowsill above on the second floor and fell dimly to the pavement. The wind picked it up like another breath of air and swept it into the gap of the second window to the right of the front door. It flew through each room until it finally came to the entrance hall. A large staircase, painted the golden glow of a morning’s sunrise gleamed in the dimly lit hallway, eerily familiar. The petal floated aimlessly up to each step before stopping on the top stair, looking into each doorway before peering into the one it searched for.
* * *
A soft petal of a dying rose fell softly onto her lap. The ginger touch made her flinch. She looked down and slowly grazed the surface with the tip of her index finger and a smile appeared on her face; the first time in however long the cold, dark years have lasted.
She picked it up and smelt the last traces of essence that drifted to the edge of her nostrils. She bathed in its beauty. It gave her strength. Feeling. Purpose.
She was sitting down, beside the windowsill. Gazing out into the world before her. A world she never knew had existed.
She had no name, at least, none she could remember. The strains of hair that fell down in front of her face were as strange to her as the colour of her eyes. A solemn expression suddenly dawned itself on her beautifully carved face.
The rose petal withered and went the deepest black. It was a void. A void that called to her, tortured her, loved her.
She threw the non-existent petal down to the floor and cowered in the corner as she always did, and waited. Waited for the same time ever night where she would scream. Scream for her life, though knowing that no once could possibly hear her. Screaming for the sake of screaming. Screaming for something, anything, someone, anyone to come to her rescue.
She sat solely alone in that room on the second floor of the two-story house. Never to be alone, but she would always be alone. It was her curse. Her future. Her gift.
A silhouette of dark, deep fear resided in that house. With a breath of a tree, and a gift of a curse, a young girl blossomed into a young spirit of thoughtfulness and anxiety: Forever to be alone: Forever to be imprisoned in that house. Forever to be held in the consciousness of a void not willing to let go.
Forever to be: a silhouette in the dark.
* * *
Slowly, ever so slowly, her eyelids flickered and opened to reveal a floor of musty desire.
‘Awaken, my child … ‘
She sat up and listened carefully, her ears pierced for any noise. That voice, who or whatever it was, was not just in her dream; if what she had was in fact, a dream. The young woman looked down and saw to her great amazement that she was surrounded by a group of rose petals. However, these were not the normal colour of a blood-red rose, no, they were of another sort. A void. A void of death: no, not of death, but of lifeless existence. They were not dead, but they were not alive either.
Just like her.
‘Are you awake yet, my child?’
Her attention was brought back to her own self, and she looked to the doorway. A doorway to freedom it was. She figured this out as she watched the insects scuttle through it, a bird that sometimes flew in through the open window, soar through it. But she dared not try.
Who knows what could happen.
She was stuck here, in this house. She knew that.
And who was this voice? After all of these years, the young woman had never heard such a voice.
It was a beautiful voice, one of singing, of laughter, of pain. Much like her own, she realized.
A breeze echoed her thoughts and came floating through the window to brush its soft touch against her cheeks, and through her hair. Another smile caressed her lips as the warm touch sifted through her like water through a sieve.
A senseless life of joy floated into her mind for a single second.
But then it was lost to one of dismay, and fear … her own.
Yet something was different now: she could sense it. It was there, and yet she could not see it. Was it the air? Was it a ghost of her past, or that of her future? She could not tell.
‘I am neither of these things …’
There! There it was again. The voice. Her voice.
“Who are you?”
She heard the words spoken before her mind thought them. The young woman gasped and covered her mouth with her hands, her eyes full of fear.
‘There is no need to fear anymore, child.’
The young woman slowly retreated her hands from her mouth and against all objections she spoke once more.
“Who are you?”
The words, spoken ever so softly reverberated against the walls as if she had screamed them.
‘You have spent all of these years, hiding from what you have known, from what has happened. Tell me: has that served you well, my dear?’
The young woman stammered, “I – do not, understand,”
‘Ah, but of course, you wouldn’t,’
The girl who sat in the corner of the room, surrounded by the lifeless existing petals flicked her eyes nervously and curiously to each other corner of the room. She could not see anyone, but they could see her!
‘You ask a very simple, yet – difficult question to answer. However, I will do my best to answer it, in time. Time is of no concern. For us, anyway.’
“You haven’t answered my last question,” spoke the young woman.
‘Indeed, I have not. And I will not. At least, not now, but as I said before, in time you shall know everything.’
“No,” she dared. “I want to know now! Who are you? Where are you? Who am I and what am I doing here? When can I leave? Where do I go when I leave?”
‘And now, we see it.’
The young woman blinked. “See what?”
‘The answers to all of the questions you just asked yourself,’
She was confused, but the young woman stayed silent.
‘You hold onto this anger, this … silent, agonizing truth of that which you cannot comprehend, but have known for however long you can remember being here.” Why are you here?” you ask. Yet, the answer is right in front of you. Your anger is your barrier, your protection, but yet, it is the reason you have not passed through this hell of a prison. This place where you have called home for most of the thing that which you called ‘life’.’
“So, you are saying that my anger is why I am still here?” asked the woman quietly. “So, if I am to leave, I must let go of my anger?”
‘Indeed, my dear.’
“I never knew I could feel anger,” she said. “All I can feel is the echoing pain of my heart. My loss. What I have gained, after all of this time,”
A silent tear streaked her cheek before it fell softly to her palm. A strain of the flowing red hair fell and wiped away that memory. She brushed the hair out of her face and looked to the window.
It was dark outside, yet she could see everything in sight as if it was day.
A rippling sea of green, rolling hills, a lake of dark terror and joy.
This world was a paradox, and she was stuck in an ever-moving hole of memories and longing.
‘To live in the future, you must step away from the past.’
These words echoed through her mind until her head ached.
Her eyes closed and she fell through a never-ending hole until she felt her body plunge into the depths of a stream of dark, warm liquid. It engulfed her, made her calm, somewhat, and made her remember … to forget …
* * *
She pulled into her driveway and watched joyfully as her children ran up beside the car. Knocking on the windows like hungry hyenas after their prey.
As soon as the engine died, the car door sprung open and the smallest of the two children scrambled into the car and jumped onto her mothers lap, smiling victoriously down at her twin sibling.
The boy gave her a look of deep disappointment and resentment, and turned to walk away.
“And where do you think your going?” he heard his mothers light-sounding voice say to him.
He turned around and smiled as his mother lifted him up, hugged him and kiss him lightly upon the cheek, her red hair falling into his face. “I want my hug every time I get home, young man. You know that!”
He laughed and hugged his mother back more tightly.
The two children helped her bring in the groceries from the car and into the house and walked into the kitchen to start preparing food for dinner.
* * *
That night, after dinner, the Mother and two children were to be found in the main sitting room flicking through the channels of their Television set.
Suddenly, the little boy jumped up and yelled, “My bike! My bike!”
After calming down from the sudden interruption, she asked softly, “What about your bike, sweetheart?”
“It is still out the front! So is my basketball, my cricket bat, my baseball bat, my skateboard …”
“And why could you have possibly needed all of those out the front at the one time?” the Mother asked.
The little boy shifted slightly looking down at the ground and replied under his breath something along the lines of, “dunno”.
The Mother smiled and said to him, “Well, while you and your sister get ready for bed, I will go and get them, OK?”
She walked out the front and proceeded to take all of her children’s toys into the backyard. She noticed the basketball down slip from her grasp and bounce away down the driveway and onto the road.
Sighing, she sped down the driveway, onto the road and bent down to retrieve the ball.
But she stopped as she heard the blaring sound of a horn and bright lights coming up from behind her …
* * *
Before it happened, all she could remember was thinking of the faces of her two children.
Without opening her eyes, she whispered, “I never even had the chance to say goodbye,”
‘Most of us never do.’
She opened her eyes and seen, for the first time, the presence behind the voice.
It was a middle-aged woman, around the same height as herself, and with the same flowing red hair and green eyes. She was wrapped in a long blue coat, with a purple jewelled brooch.
“I know you,” the young woman said.
The older woman smiled.
‘Yes. But it has been a while, my child.’
The old woman never talked with her mouth, but with her mind. Implanting the sounds of wonder into her brain.
“What happens now?” the young woman asked.
‘What do you think will happen? Have you forgiven the past and know now what you must do?’
The beautiful young woman looked back down to the floor.
The rose petals were gone, she realized. At least, the voids were anyway.
Blood red petals lay sprawled around her, and even when she touched them, the colour seemed to brighten, than darken.
The young woman, who had been imprisoned in this lonely house for all of these years: hearing the growing voices of the children who were not there, the birds who could not fly, and the flowers that would not grow, finally smiled.
She stood, and looked into her own mother’s eyes and held out her hand.
‘Never be to a silhouette in the dark again …’