I make a path through the lawn, grass tickling my legs as I look at the house. It’s paint is old, peeling and yellowed. The shingles are chipped and missing, the windows coated in thick layers of dust.
No one has been here in years. No one willing to stay and keep it clean, keep it presentable. So now it just sits, forgotten by all but me. Because this house used to be mine.
I used to run down all the halls, stuffed Teddy in hand and chocolate on my face. It kept me safe during my childhood. Kept my parents together. Kept our family happy. But then someone intruded. She broke everything apart, tainting the walls with her stench.
My father left with her. My mother yelled at her. My siblings loved her more. But not me. I watched as everything crumbled around me, the house reacting to the trauma. Until everything was broken. And everyone was gone.