Our Worlds of Fear

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic

There surrounds us, historic, heavy solid, white walls. Ahead of me, a dark red brick fireplace, black hands reaching out of it for me as I sit up in the night. There are ghost corridors, telling me memories, I sleep next to them. Across from the window outside, 17 green pointed tip trees. In this room sits my bed made of pillows and grey fiber blankets, I keep next to it: A book on top of a brown box and borrowed headphones on top of framed Japanese paintings. The window douses the stacked wicker chairs in light, the chairs waiting to be used. A Palo Santo incense box given to me sits on top of another box. In the office is where I sit in my parents’ house, where I sit now. I wonder how many others have ghosted halls; wooden planks, white walls, or green pointed tip trees. Our worlds of fear fall apart and into chaos. What a day to have, having lived through the year, we decended into laugh and cheer over crickets; little jumping creatures that made a home under the freezer. We cheered over the large orange mushrooms we scavenged from the forest. I hope, those who also have ghosted corridors also have crickets. I hope, that the fear subsides into a quiet place; in quiet places, walls do not crumble, historic bricked places stay bricked for long.

Forgotten, i'd sat on the creaky wooden boards thinking of how we had uncovered them. I'd been laying on some blue carpet, old and browned from years of use, an old office carpet. Through the thin blonde hair of my hand and above the shining patterned tile of my skin, i'd seen a square slightly lifted in the corner tile of the dirty carpet. Not fearing the consequences I had pulled the fibers up with my fingers and pulled the carpet over itself showing the sticky wooden planks beneath.

 At the time I had shot up excitedly 'Look, this is amazing! why don't we rip all of the carpets off!'

We spent hours on that room and the others, taking the sticky blackened glue off with remover that smelt like some chemical atomic bomb, and after we were left with old historical brown planks that we painted over again with some lacquer. They were beautiful, unfortunately now we realized the lacquer had been the wrong kind, and instead of an oil base we had used a water base, which had ended in unsightly boils curdling from beneath. The boils would then open like the petals of a flower, and we could see now, soon the whole floor would be peeling like a bad sunburn. It was okay though, we would battle this just like we had when the rooms flooded and we had to carry all of the furniture from them in handfuls; back and forth we went. We would battle it just like that time when mum had hit her toe on the corner of the bed, and when she uncovered it from her sock, her pinky toe had been bent and trying to escape all the others. We would deal with this just as all other things we have dealt with, we will bend over with pains in our backs like the elderly, and get the job done because that's what we do.

Submitted: June 06, 2020

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