Fear of the Dark, Fear of the Dark
October 10, 1956
I have seen my future. It's insulated by darkness, fortifying what's really of value behind it. My future seems concealed, giving off no insinuation of what could be lurking behind the darkness. I like to think that my future is bright, but with latest discoveries, I am starting to think otherwise. The future is a black hole, luring me inside the confides of it's crevasse.
I have trouble believing in a good future know. The confides of my brain are bulling tampered with, by what? - well I haven't got a clue. The future was something that I cherished, always wanting to have a good one, one that friends would be jealous of. But with this site I have been seeing in my dreams, it's as if I have somehow travelled to the gates of hell, seeing black everywhere I look and not knowing why I am in this mess. My future has been jeopardized, kicking me out of it's boundaries and shoving me into the corner of shamefulness. And I don't know how to get back in.
I take a deep breath, sitting the pencil down and crumple up the piece of brown-tinted paper, throwing it across the room in frustration. I sigh, sitting on my bed and trying to rid my thoughts of this madness. This is all because of the presumptuous, browbeat, and breathtaking psychiatric convalescent, known as Zayn Malik. This varlet is taking over my dreams, haunting them with mischief. I can't get Zayn Malik out of my head, whether it's the fact the I find him so tyrannizing that I cannot stop thinking about him scaring me half to death, or that I find him so breathtakingly beautiful that I find myself day-dreaming constantly about him, fantasizing about a life of intimacy, chance, and affection?
I groan, shaking my head in attempt to get that miscreant out of my head. In attempt to soothe my head, I try to busy myself, walking into the kitchen to try and get the dishes washed and back into the cupboard without breaking them in two. I get to work, washing and drying the dishes while looking outside my kitchen window. I look at the leaves that looks as though they are glowing in the moonlight, making them seem paler than they actually are.
I gaze at the beautiful stars, seeing how they line the sky with elegance and grace. I always used to try to count the stars when I was a little girl. I would sit by window and count stars for hours, or until my grandfather would catch me out of bed and tickle me, telling me to get in bed and go to sleep.
I chuckle absentmindedly at my thoughts, continuing to wash and dry the dishes, gazing out the window once more. I scan my front yard, jumping in fright when I see someone staring right at me through my window. They smile, walking towards the door in a hurry. A second later, I hear three knocks at the door, and I gulp.
Grabbing a one of the kitchen knives I was washing, I walk to the door, harboring the knife behind my back. I close my head around the door nob, turning it and opening it slowly, seeing a man with lightly colored brown hair dressed in a dark brown suit smiling widely at me. He's clutching a briefcase in his hand, hard, judging by the way his knuckles are turning white.
The man clears his throat, speaking in a thick, slightly slurred British accent, "Hello. My name is Louis. I'm your new neighbor across the street in that white house their." He says, pointing behind himself at a white house where the od couple, Jan and Dave, used to live.
"Oh, I wasn't aware that I was receiving new neighbors. I'm Laine." I say politely, sticking my hand out for him to shake. He stares at it for a moment before he extends his hand out, shaking my head.
"What lovely skin you have! It's so soft." He says, starting me.
"Oh. . .um, th-thank you." I stutter out, pulling my hand out of his grip and stepping back slightly, undetected by the strange lad in front of me. "May I ask you a question?"
"Of course." Louis replies, having a ghost of a smirk on his plump lips.
"Wh-Why were you staring a-at me through my w-window?" I ask shakily, obviously petrified.
He chuckles slightly, "I was just making sure you where here Ms. Laine. I'm deeply sorry if I frightened you." Louis informs me, reaching out towards me and gently patting my shoulder. "I shall see you tomorrow, neighbor. I bid you goodnight."
"G-Goodnight." I say nervously, smiling slightly at his retreating figure.
That was very odd. I saw Jan a week ago, and she hadn't mentioned anything about moving. I wonder if she just didn't tell anyone she moved. Jan and I weren't very close either, so it would make sense for her not to enlighten me on the fact she was moving.
I sigh, closing the door and walking back into the kitchen, putting the knife into the silverware drawer and walking into the sitting room, plopping down on the couch and turning my body to close the drapes in front of the massive window looking into the foyer.
I turn back around, grabbing my book, The Grass Is Singing by Doris Lessing, and continue my place on Chapter 4, enchanted by how the book is written in a way that perfectly exhibits racism. Reading is a great passion of mine, and I can't help but enjoy how every book I've read tells it's own story in a way that seems unrealistic.
I get lost in the book, reading the rest until I finally come to an end, sitting the book back down and walking into my bedroom, making sure to urn out all of the lights before climbing into bed, letting sleep take over me.
A/N So! Another chapter! What do you guys think? Let me know! Like, comment, favorite.