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What It Means

What It Means

By A Person

The sun came up, and I unlocked the door, crawling out of my safe place.

The sun drew ribbons of light on the floor, illuminating the dust drifting through existence.

My dress was adorned with even more dust and dirt after the night under the stairs. It looked strange, with its rips and tears, and ribbons dusty on one side. The left half of my skirt was slightly more rumpled than the right, and all of it looked like Mrs. Albert's dress, upstairs. Raggedy. Old.

I heard Evan calling, then, and I peered around the railing to see him at the top of the stairs, in his pose. His eyes locked onto mine and I knew that he was waiting for me. I knew he would wait as long as he had to.

I walked downstairs instead, passing Taylor's body on the way down. The scent was becoming familiar, but I still couldn't keep myself from collapsing on the landing, dry heaving until it felt like my insides were escaping through my throat.

My stomach has been empty for far too long.

Somewhere in the mess of me, a twinge of sadness echoed.

Stumbling down the stairs, I pushed a door open and fell to my knees next to the broken pipe. The mud oozed around my knees as I succumbed to the need for water. My lips found the leak, closing around it, and the burning in my throat subsided as the water trickled into my mouth.

Jack walked into the room, like he always did when I thought about living. He just stared at me.

My body refused to get up when I tried to, falling back into the puddle of dirt and moisture. The sound caused the rats to scurry away, back into their tiny homes in the walls.

I wished evan would come, to take Jack somewhere else, but I knew if Evan came, I would not be able to get away in time.

I could feel the echoes of life bouncing inside my head. Not memories, not feelings, but the experience of existing. Physical, raw. Slowly draining away with each drip, drip, drip of the water behind my head.

I had never been prepared for this. The feelings. The pain. And yet there has never been anything more perfect.

Is that what it means to be alive?

Author Notes: Nearing the final day

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About The Author
A Person
About This Story
23 Jan, 2020
Read Time
1 min
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