Their doll 2

65- Peace and Perish

Stepping up the front steps onto the porch, I was missing the voice I'd heard so many times in my childhood. The soothing voice that would comfort me once I opened this door, asking me how my day was. If I was hungry. If I was fed. I stared at the doorknob. Too broken to reach my hand out and twisted it. I lifted my gaze slightly and saw the keypad above. With shaky fingers, I reached out and punched the access code.

It was raining bad outside and not a single person could be spotted roaming the streets. For few times, the thunder boomed and vibrated through the valley. I wasn't afraid. In fact, I drew comfort from the lighting, wishing it to strike me and end it all.

The door of my house flew open and the familiar scent hit me. At least, they didn't change the code. Thank God.

The sight in front of me had struck a nostalgic chord in me, leaving me completely speechless. Not that I had much to say in the first place.

I stepped into the house, thinking of the last time I was here. A long, long time ago. The dusty wooden floor creaked. My eyes searched the dim hallway, taking it all in.

I inhaled a deep breath and my chest tightened with freedom. The kind of freedom that somehow, left my spirit blank and caged. I tried to force a thought. Anything at all that could plainly divert this unbearable agony of loss I was feeling.

I heard the door fell shut behind me. A soft closing.

I'm home now. A voice in my head repeated. Incoherently.

I started walking, turned the corner, entered the dim hallway, and walked slowly while my right hand felt the way along the wall.

The sharp pain in my chest tripled and I remembered smiling while river of tears flowing down both of my cheeks.

******************************

A week later

I hate falling asleep mid-crying.

You woke up with such a negative feeling that every part of your limbs feel like they're falling apart. Especially, your eyeballs.

I propped myself up on my elbow, my attention was drawn to how messy and out of order my room looks.

Everything is everywhere. Out of order. Simply a mess.

I acknowledged the disorientation but refuse to get out of bed and put everything back to where they belong as I believe the state of one's room is the closest representation of how one truly is feeling.

And right now, I'm absolutely and completely mortified.

It had only been one week, or seven days since I moved out of my ex's apartment. I mean I got kicked out. The relocation wasn't by choice.

Anyhow, despite all the negative thoughts I could have had, I greatly appreciate the fact that I still have a roof above my head and a comfortable-enough bed to sleep in. At least, I am not lying by the street, munching on somebody's leftovers right off the bin. I wouldn't count myself as the luckiest person in the world, but currently not the most unfortunate one. After wasting almost one year of my adolescence being miserable, procrastinating at home and playing a role of a full time anti-social teenager sound like a reasonable after effects.