The words came from the very walls around me, echoing through the house, vibrating the floor boards, sending shivers down my back. I didnít want to hear, but nothing would cut out the noise around me. All I could do was lie in my bed in this big dark house and listen.
It hadnít always been like this, the house had once been comfortable, bright, warm, even on the coldest days of winter. Now the very air was thick and menacing, and even the crackling flames in the fire place wonít melt the frost on the windows. The argument had changed everything.
If only I could take back those things, if only I could say sorry, if only. But now no one, nothing, will hear, even if I shout and scream at the top of my lungs. He wonít hear my apology, he has closed his ears, and now Iím a prisoner in his very heart.
There is movement, my bed rocks backward and forward and slides toward the door, the floorboards marching me slowly to my doom. I let out a scream, but it is quickly drowned out by his laughter. Cold and high pitched, it rattles the glass in the windows and the marching floorboards move faster.
And then I fall.
As the deep black darkness engulfs me, I think to myself, I really shouldnít have dated him in the first place; after all, dating a living house isn't my smartest idea, although it would be my last.
submitted at 2:15am
20 February 2009