A memory of a place

Just a beginning, not sure what will become of it

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1. The House

 

I thought back to the house. That place where there were no shadows in the corner of our eyes. It was before the darkness touched my heart and turned it as black as coal. My 'happy place' as my counselor refers it is a nothing more than a memory, but it is the only one that isn't shriveled and disjointed. It's the only thing I own that cannot be taken away from me, well, it will leave me in due course, just like everything else, but for now it stays with me. And that's what matters.

I was a small girl for my age with a mop of blonde curls that would hang just above my shoulders. I had little twiggy legs and my sharp elbows stuck out, usually bumping into the dusty objects that lay within the sleeping house. The only evidence of life in that house was the scuttle of tiny feet up the walls and the peaceful groans as I walked across the floorboards. The building  was often so quiet that it could probably wake the dead with its deafening silence. I liked it though. I liked the fact that I knew every inch of the ceiling pattern that once must have been lit up so bright. I liked the fact that I had a house; a place to live; a home. Just like a dog with its first bone, that house was my heaven. I kept it away from everyone and anyone; except Millicent.  She was a short little thing with eyes as bright and as fierce as a lady lioness looking after her cubs. We would play many games to keep our minds off the never ending problem of food and when we were too hungry to run from room to room of our magnificent mansion, we would sit together on a dusty sofa and predict our futures or tell stories until we fell asleep.  Millie left after a couple of weeks; they always did. But something changed me after she had gone. 

I would never forget those bright, amber eyes and small yet cheeky grin.  

Only now, looking into the same pair of faded gold, glazed over eyes do I realize that its her. And all I have to do now is go back to the house.

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