Away From the No-More House.

written October 2

   She walks out of the house right as the scurrilous noises increase to a level she can't seem to deal with anymore. Nor can she seem ignore them any longer. So she makes the step she's been pondering on making ever since before her feeble mind and heart could even seem to remember. The feeling which overwhelmed her as she ambled through the arched doorway was, on the surface, one of relief. What was underneath she hid with all her might. In fact, she hid it so well she was able to walk down her street with a seeming careless ease, except for her hand which was dramatically trembling. That she forced deep into her sleepwear pocket, out of sight from all of the carefree children who were innocently kicking balls into goals, or chasing each other around as if it were simply a game to them; their joyous cries both whimsical and foreign to my damaged ears. Ears which had suffered great damage from the very beginning. Even before I had realized what had begun.

 

        I had trekked nearly five miles before the sun started to approach the horizon, as if to bring forth a new day; possibly one full of the same joy and happiness those children had portrayed and felt. The shimmering stars of the almost pitch sky began to fade as the sky transformed from a deep black to a wonderful violet then to a shimmery yellow-orange as the sun found its place directly above the horizon. This process, in normal time, took anywhere from a quarter of an hour to a full hour. Yet, to me, time was of no importance any longer. My life was now lost in the timelessness one would think about when reading of Siddhartha Gautama, The Buddha. I could no longer feel seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, for they had all mushed into one. They each played a part in each other and I could no longer separate what was known as a minute from an hour. For time was immeasurable.

 

       I looked all around me, and could see nothing but empty pastures, could feel nothing but the chilly wind of the present, could smell nothing but the scent of something new, and could be nothing but where I was then.

 

      I thought back to what I left behind, and my body followed the same path as I turned around myself. I looked back, and, upon closer inspection, could see the house which I left and was leaving behind. No more breaking of trust, no more telling of lies, no more realizeing something yet taking no action, no more sedulous battles, no more of anything not meant to be.

 

     I had chosen this timeless path; this immeasurable life before me where there was no story previously written, no schedule to follow, and no people who could take advantage of me, or I them. It was simply me. Me and another omnipotent presence: one in which I constantly found doubts in, yet one I am pretty sure has never doubted me.

 

     I turned around, facing the brilliant green pastures, with flowers of wondrous pinks and magentas, blues and violets, yellows and poppy-golds radiating to me, the sun casting irridescence upon the path before me. I sighed in its beauty; worldly yet oh-so-wondrous. Then I peeked back to the treacherous looking house.

 

     I then took one step toward the path which would lead me to my spiritual truth, and a million steps away from the no-more house.

 

     This was my choice.

Reviews

[Amanda]

This was a fabulous piece of descriptive writing. I really dig your style. I know it's a short story, so there's not much room to work with, but I would work on mingling more plot in with your descriptive language and retrospective thoughts; otherwise, it kind of leaves the reader thinking: wait. did anything actually happen, here? Overall, beautiful writing though.

[KarenDN]

What a great writer you are. I identify with this story on a very deep level. I've wanted to do this myself many times :) It's such a good story, nicely written.