Too Much To Bear

Okay so this is just something that I wrote in my AS Creative Writing class today and I am actually quite proud of it as I am more of a poet than a fiction writer. However as I am trying to write a book it is probably good to try and write some decent fiction ;) As of yet I am not sure if I will continue this so I am putting it as 'In Progress' for now. I hope you guys will like this and don't forget to like and comment or check out some of my other work! Again, I am sorry that it has been so long since I last uploaded anything but revision and coursework has been a nightmare!


1. Too Much To Bear

She looks at the building before her. The place she once knew so well, with its white- washed walls and pebble driveway; with its many fields stretching out the back, and the beautiful garden to the right that had once felt so big. She begins to walk towards the door, small, brown and with a single pane of glass. Its key was hot and heavy in her pocket. In the corner of her eye she spots a small lizard, one so common in these parts. She spares a couple of seconds to stare at the creature, and wonders if this is the same one she always saw here; the same one she had once protected – but that was a story for another time.

She finally reaches the door and notes the cleanliness of the glass. It was not the same as it had been years ago when she had broken it – by accident of course. She grabs the keys in her now shaky hands and places it in the small hole made especially for it. She hears the click to confirm that it is unlocked and slowly pushes the door open. She takes a deep breath and takes a step inside, to be greeted by the familiar dry, alcohol laden scent of the house; the place where she had once spent so much time in. She heads towards where she knows she will find the kitchen to look out of the window. The window that is the portal to her childhood. She sees herself at three years old chasing her aunt’s ginger cat. What had his name been? She could not recall.

She turns around and looks at her uncle’s table. She’s shocked to see a thirteen-year-old version of herself eating a combination of ham, cheese and bread. Such a simple meal, but satisfying all the same. A pang of sorrow hits her and there is nothing she can do about it. She cannot escape it – especially not here.  

When she finally looks away she heads up the stairs despite being terrified of the memories this could bring. She barely touches the banister, wanting to preserve as much of the house as she possibly can, trying not to leave her scent here. It was their place. She is safe until she reaches the bathroom. She sees herself at only three years old and beside her is her aunt. They are trying to wash off as much of the sand as they could as she had rolled around in it at the beach.

It was too much for her to bear. Maybe she should have taken it slower, only visiting a room per day. ‘No.’ she thinks to herself, ‘It had to be this way and you know it.’ She could not wait a second longer, she sprinted down the stairs, through the kitchen and out the front door as fast as she could, not looking back even once. ‘I’m sorry.’ She whispers as she sits on the concrete step and begins to cry.

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