It Wasn't Like This Before
It was a Friday morning. She drew a breath from the semi-cool air draped in sunshine. The wind was gently dancing, playing with her loose bangs. It brushed across her temple, down to the bones of her right cheek.
“The weather’s well,” she thought, as she walked towards the house she once lived in. The sound of her stroller’s wheels against the cemented street resonated through the silent morning. Her walking made no sound, her shoes made no sound. It’s just her luggage, and her deep breaths.
In less than a minute, she reached the gate of her house. She stood there for a moment, taking in the familiar sight. It was here when she used to play silly games as a kid - of hanging from a jump rope tied around the gate’s steel bars while she was pretending to be in peril of falling off from a high place.
“Aaaah! Help! Help us!” she would say in a panicked tone, as her playmate would say the same. “Help! We’re going to fall!”
And off they would fall on the inclined, pebble-covered extension of the garage which led to the street. They would fall on purpose, of course, as they would twitch the jump rope and make it slide off on one side, making them, too, slide on the pavement, and fall.
She looked at the gate and noticed its age - must’ve been ages since they had this repainted. Its paint was chipping off; a huge lot of the gray steel was already displaying its mark.
She took a heavy breath.
She opened the gate and stepped in, moving her head around, observing what she could observe. “It’s so quiet here,” she thought, as her eyes flicked from the wall, to the tattered car, to the dog’s chain lying lifelessly in rust.
An abandoned dog chain.
“Tiger,” she thought.
She went on, and took out the key from the pocket of her jacket. She unlocked the front door and opened it, and allowed her house to take her in. It was as if she was in a trance - in a trance by the house where she had it all - the good times and the bad.
She walked in slowly, still taken away, as she let her finger run on the brown table which held their stationary boom box. Dust filled her finger, but she didn’t know, and she wouldn’t mind. She continued to the kitchen - to be continued.
“The weather’s well,” she thought, as she walked towards the house she once lived in. The sound of her stroller’s wheels against the cemented street resonated through the silent morning. Her walking made no sound, her shoes made no sound. It’s just her luggage, and her deep breaths.
In less than a minute, she reached the gate of her house. She stood there for a moment, taking in the familiar sight. It was here when she used to play silly games as a kid - of hanging from a jump rope tied around the gate’s steel bars while she was pretending to be in peril of falling off from a high place.
“Aaaah! Help! Help us!” she would say in a panicked tone, as her playmate would say the same. “Help! We’re going to fall!”
And off they would fall on the inclined, pebble-covered extension of the garage which led to the street. They would fall on purpose, of course, as they would twitch the jump rope and make it slide off on one side, making them, too, slide on the pavement, and fall.
She looked at the gate and noticed its age - must’ve been ages since they had this repainted. Its paint was chipping off; a huge lot of the gray steel was already displaying its mark.
She took a heavy breath.
She opened the gate and stepped in, moving her head around, observing what she could observe. “It’s so quiet here,” she thought, as her eyes flicked from the wall, to the tattered car, to the dog’s chain lying lifelessly in rust.
An abandoned dog chain.
“Tiger,” she thought.
She went on, and took out the key from the pocket of her jacket. She unlocked the front door and opened it, and allowed her house to take her in. It was as if she was in a trance - in a trance by the house where she had it all - the good times and the bad.
She walked in slowly, still taken away, as she let her finger run on the brown table which held their stationary boom box. Dust filled her finger, but she didn’t know, and she wouldn’t mind. She continued to the kitchen - to be continued.