All Falls Down

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
A flash fiction I had to write for my Creative Writing class.

Submitted: October 01, 2010

A A A | A A A

Submitted: October 01, 2010



This is the bed that became my home; the caring parent that rocked me to sleep as my screaming lullaby raged on.
This is the poster-filled door. When it closed, I was okay; as close as I could come to it anyway. It was my protector. If I cried, I felt safe. If I was angry, it would let me go crazy until I calmed down. The floor so desperatley tried to help, but couldn't. Screaming pierced the air and all around. I cried to the sky, but only got my wish years later.
This is the bedroom door downstairs. A gaping hole where his fist penetrated the wood. No, it didn't leave a good feeling, only a new fear: if this is what happened to him, my blood, would it happen to me?
This is the daughter you left alone, stranded on a deserted island, to figure everything out by herself. A sea of mixed emotions ran through my veins. Sadness, loss, anger, a feeling of betrayal. You are the best mime I know. Projecting emotions, but never speaking a word of it. If you knew how I felt, why'd you do it? A lame excuse responded to that.
This is the tiny hallway. I let my emotions run wild here. Things I bottled up and threw far away came crawling back. I said what I needed to and walked away, hoping you hurt just as much as I did when I lost my mother. You lost the daughter you once wanted so badly. Playing 'House' finally bore you to sleep, so now it was time to be a fourty-seven year old teenager. I hope you like it, because I'm not coming back.
This is the house. As the years went on, it became more of my own twisted jail that would now love what my mind has come to. The garden became a weeds paradise; a result of owner's neglect. Outsiders would glance at the grey house and think nothing, but not want to walk inside either. They did not hear the sad cries, but maybe a part of them assumed.
These are the memories I'm left with. It's a past I can't forget, but I try to make the future better.
Maybe the wounds won't heal, only become scars with different stories dying to be heard.
I'll make the present and future something to love, something worth remembering.
I'll quit living in the past.

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