Her solace was the tears she shed in the middle of the night, when she knew there was no one to listen to her sobs or notice her wet pillow..
He found salvation in the blood that often oozed out of his hand.
When their paths meet, will the blood be...
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For me, home is just a place I am indebted to go every evening. If I had any other option, I would gladly leave this materialistic piece of structural shit forever. It doesn't feel home to me.
As I pull open the door, I can almost hear my mother screaming at me to leave my shoes back outside. But I know they aren't there. That I am making it all up. That I am pretending, so that the weight of loss doesn't hit me so hard.
But I do walk back to leave the shoes at the doorstep. The silence is heart-breaking. The same house which was always filled of giggles and laughs and screams, now resembles a graveyard. I can feel the clinking of vessels in the kitchen and know it's the servant but I am too tired to go and tell her hello.
I enter my room, only to slump on the bed, too exhausted to change. And I then imagine my mom mutter, "Have you changed to your home clothes, darling?" And I force myself to get up and get into my pajamas.
I lie down on my bed and stare at the pink ceiling; the same ceiling that once had fluorescent sticker stars. Those same stars that I ripped down because it sounded too childish, because my brother wanted to spend his time here watching them. And because, I wanted to get rid of him.
I wish I could remain forever staring into the ceiling. I don't know how much time has passed when I wake back up. There is a tray of food on my bedside table and I wonder how cold it would be. I eat because I feel drained. The coffee is bitter but I still drink it. The sandwich is cold but I still eat it. Bitterness and coldness do not matter anymore.
When I am done, I lay back on the bed. I turn face down to feel the fluffy bed on my face. The overwhelming scent of my mother's favourite perfume hits me hard. I don't know if I am imagining it. It's so good, I hold on.
As the owls start howling out in the night, I restart imagining sounds downstairs. I hear my mom playing the piano, my dad singing along to it and Teddy squealing in glee. Now, it feels home but I know it is happening inside my head.
I clutch onto the pillows and grit my teeth, because I know its coming. I hug the pillows tight and tell my brain that its mom. But it doesn't feel as warm as her. It feels cold and distant.
The whirlwind hits me like a train wreck all of a sudden.
And I start to cry.
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A/N
We hit 50 votes and I can't even describe that amazing feeling! Thank you to all the people who have been following this book closely. I know there are quite a few silent readers as well. It would be great if you guys would vote but it's completely okay though! Thanks a lot for reading. :D
Today's question: How do you think Eira's parents died?
Lina!
P.S.: The rank is going up and up and up. It's #49 in Short Story today. WOW.
