3,652 times around the sun. That's how many days I've been in this old house.
Creeks and cracks around every corner. Once a perceived threat, now a comfort.
I'm immune to the musty smell that engulfs the house. It sits on an otherwise
empty acre of land. It is as lonely as I am. The yard is overgrown with weeds,
abandoned like its owner. I miss the sun shining on my face and fresh air against
my nostrils. I miss the mundane of getting groceries and yelling at traffic.
If only I could escape the shackles tied around my ankles. They drag against the
old wood floors. The scratches, reminders of the pain. The weight is heavy and has
worn me down over the years. At first I had hoped it would let me go. It's just a
phase. This too shall pass. I thought this for the first few years. I've tried
leaving the threshold of the house. Each time the chain pulls harder as my ankles
bleed from the tension. The doctors say it's from past trauma that will haunt me
until the day I die and haunt the next residents of 2341 Grover Street.
I'm never leaving this house.