“Wait – don’t jump!” Carly Ann yelled at her big brother who was ready and poised to plummet to (what he thought would be) his death from the window of his second-story bedroom. “Just give me a minute to get up there and I’ll push you off myself!”
I keep two birds locked in a golden cage, atop the kitchen counter in a dusty, musty house. The paint is peeling, the floorboards are gone, blood streaks the walls, and the two birds stare at me from the confines of their golden cage.
She smiled, turned the key in the lock, then walked away from the empty old house for the last time, jumped into her car and drove off following the moving van down the deserted country road.
Inside the attic walls only the spiders and mice could hear the steady heartbeat of the man who lay muffled and bound in the pitch black.
It wasn’t much of a house, with the old wood plank floors worn into grooves from generations of dwellers, thin windows and sagging mattresses and a ramshackle, rundown front porch with bentwood rockers that had held countless dreamers and so much love on their welcoming slatted seats.
He stood alone at a huge window of his 12,000 square foot mansion, looking out at the view of acres of perfectly manicured grounds, the pool, the tennis court, the 5 car garage, the servants quarters, the gated and guarded entrance, and wished he was looking out at the woods and peaceful water from the rocker on that beat up front porch, with nothing to fret over but how many fish he would be able to catch in the lake that day and how he could make his family smile while they talked together and ate the fresh catch that night at supper.
Outside my house is a giant piece of cheese sitting on a metal plate.
Very tempting it is, too.
She waited 15 years to finally have stability and even begged her husband to get a stable job so she could get out of God forsaken Wales – a beautiful country with hardly any crime. Unfortunately, they wound up moving to Houston – an ugly city with nothing but crime.
In the time I’ve lived alone in this house, I’ve closed far more doors than I’ve opened. Of course, my asshole friends always leave the doors open when they visit… dicks.
They told me not to build my house on a supposed graveyard. I believed them the night I heard knocking beneath my feet.