I wrote this a few days ago. I often find myself about to fall asleep at night when strange thoughts enter my brain. More often than not, I ignore them. For some reason, these thoughts were hard to dismiss. So despite trying to sleep, I grabbed my phone, opened the notepad, and started typing away. I edited the words in the morning and touched up the piece recently. I rather enjoy it. When I first started this blog, I would spend 10 minutes each day writing whatever came to mind. I named them Quickies. You can read some of them here and here. I thought I would indulge my audience again with more of my warped thoughts. Enjoy.
I walk through the thick woods, trying to be careful of every step. Hoping I don’t break my ankle or something worse that will render me useless. The thick brush seems to encase itself around me and I struggle to break free of its tight clutches. I push aside a branch that nearly smacks me in the face and my eyes catch a creepy outline. Its peeling paint and sagging roof remind me of every stereotype my thoughts can produce about strange, old houses in the woods. I approached with caution as I neared the house from an angle, careful to keep hidden from the stained widows. If anyone was inside, I didn’t want to bother them. Not just yet. The sun was setting and the fading light offered the right amount of camouflage. I came to what looked like a bathroom window. The window placed at eye level and to my amazement, cracked open. I wondered if it was a trap, but erased the thought from my head. How could they know anything? Everyone I loved was dead. I put my face to the glass. I wanted a better look inside. The window, with spots of mud and filth made it hard to see. I could barely make out the lining of a shower and toilet. I surveyed the window for wires or anything suspicious. Satisfied I wouldn’t die instantly or become impaled, I slowly opened the window. It made small creaking sounds and I cringed every time. I pleaded for no one to be inside. I finally managed it open and started to squeeze in, feet first. The floor felt slimy and it took all my strength to hang onto the windowsill and keep my balance. In seconds, I would find out what was under my feet and I wasn’t ready. I imagined a layer of film from a once overflowing toilet, or just grime from a house in ruins. The crisp night air must have seduced me, for as soon as my entire body entered the bathroom, my nostrils filled with the smell of bile. I almost lost the contents in my stomach, but another stench came creeping in and it took a while for the smell to register. I have smelt it before. My mother smelled the same way before she died. I know because I held her in my arms. It was all I could do to keep her alive, but the wound was so deep. I then knew what it was. Blood. I thought of how my mother knew exactly where to cut. To make a mark in her skin that no one could heal. When I found her, she was covered and lying in a pool of this familiar stench. I tried to stop the bleeding, but it was too late. The bathroom was suddenly my old home and I could see my mother curled up on the floor half-awake, half-dead. I was sad and deeply confused. When she died, I only felt anger. I see her on the floor and I want to run to her. To tell her how angry I am for taking her life. How upset I am for leaving me alone. A loud sound from another room breaks my trance. I quickly hide in the only safe place – the shower. An old tub rest on four posts in the shape of talons. A single rod from the floor holds a circle that hangs above the tub. A moldy plastic sheet hangs from rust covered hooks. I pull the sheet around me and wait patiently, silently, trying to hold my breath. My heart is pounding and I swear it sounds like drums. The footsteps grow louder and I pray they pass the bathroom door. Please don’t have to pee. Please. The footsteps stop in front of the door. A voice from another room yells at the person in the hallway. I can’t make out the words, but it causes the person to grunt in a disapproving tone. The person starts to open the bathroom door and I am sure that my hiding place will be no more. I can die as my mother did, lonely on a bathroom floor. Except nobody will be there to comfort me and I will not have taken my own life, just brutally murdered in a disgusting bathroom. The door pushes open and I cover my mouth, as if it helps the situation. The voice from the other room yells again. The bathroom door shuts slightly and the person grunts loudly and walks down the hall. This is my chance. I step out of the shower and slowly make my way out of the bathroom. Away from my death. I can feel my mother’s clutches and I stall. Half of my body in the hallway and half in the bathroom. I search the hallway for the next available hiding spot and shake my leg. “Not today, mother.” This momentary fight for life gives me the courage to dodge into an adjacent room. I hide in the closet and find myself seated holding my knees, on the floor. I decide to wait until the house is empty. Until then I devise a new plan. I’ll find my answers in the morning.