I haven't been able to write my main story, so I took a little detour to write something else. Please tell me what you thought of it, what I can improve on, or if you stopped reading halfway because it was boring.
I hate this room as much as I hate my father, I do. The stairs spiral on and on, and at the bottom lay a single hatch.
Maybe the hatch leads to the basement.
Maybe, even an escape.
Who’s to know? I’d only returned to that wretched room to obtain the keys to my car. If father were around, I’d swiftly be called an idiot and forced to hear another rant.
But I’d simply misplaced my keys. A human mistake, is it not? Would you tear apart my self-esteem, – my limbs, for such a simple mistake? I would hope not.
And there that spiral went, encapsulating me furthermore. I could not see the end of the spiral from where I stood. Cassandra, my psychic, said the stairs have a certain… draw, to them.
I agree, for I cannot bear to go without a glance, not even for a day. The stairs are rugged in nature. Dust and grime sit atop them, burying them. It was not hard for me to ignore the grime, as my own room had become an even worse phenomenon, yet I froze at the top.
Vines, mishappen and contorted, wrapped around my ankles. I could hear my car keys cry out my name; “Johnathan! We require your assistance!” It was just as mother once did, whenever she was alive.
The drawer next to the staircase was rather bright, a dreadful yellow, if I had to describe it. In stark contrast to the stairs and the keys, the drawer demanded I leave, just as Cassandra demanded I leave the house.
No, of course I did not listen to Cassandra back then, and I had no reason to listen to the drawer. It was much less the car keys that hung over my head at this point; it was only the staircase.
That unique, almost dangerous spiral, oh… I almost loved it. I almost loved father, as well, but we know the conclusion to that forlorn story.
The vines wrapped further and further up. It was akin to that ever so intriguing spiral. I thought of the book, which had never been there before, that I held firmly in my hand. I’d never gotten to hold mother that way, and I’d never wanted to hold father that way.
The book grounded me in that horrid room, before my thoughts could get to me.
But, likewise, I still thought incomprehensible thoughts.
I thought of the spiral, the vines, Cassandra, mother, and that man who will be named no longer.
Those stairs that engrossed me, I hated them. I was fated to wonder what was underneath the hatch, for I could not move.
And the vines, oh, they suffocated me. My last vision was of that ugly yellow dresser. I wish it’d been something different.
u/-Describing — 7 days ago