The silo was always there in the back of my mind. It's priority happened to be pushed there. A whole year passed before I was back behind that same barn, caught in the mystery of what's inside. I was eight then, craving with all my little heart the answers to every question in the world. At that moment, it was beating for the silo.
I was closer to it this time. My hands rested on the edge of the broken latched window. My vision wouldn't adjust to the darkness inside. A musty, chilling feeling radiated from the hole and created goosebumps that lingered on my arms and legs.
But I couldn't leave. I couldn't turn away. It was a certain fear that built onto my wonder and sense of wanting.
I traced the outline of the open window. If only I was a little taller, I could climb inside. My legs, at the time, couldn't get me that far.
I huffed a heavy sigh, backing away. My eyebrows furrowed as a few strands of my sandy colored hair crossed my face that I had to fight back from the breezy day. Frustration bubbled in my gut. I just wanted to go inside.
My fingers clung to a small rock that was on the ground, then tossed it into the window. The sound of the rock hitting cement echoed in the silo, creating an eerie tune that lasted longer than I had expected. The legs that carried me began to step back until they bumped into an old car that rested behind the barns, along with a few others.
The silo won't be seeing the last of me yet. It'll call me back.
