Walking Alone – Original Writing

Dew clings to the harsh tired of(p) grass. The cool droplets of water stick to my bare legs as I sweep past, silently, stealthily. Where am I going? Itll tote up back to me in a moment. Ill just follow my instinct. Right, if Im automatically taking this direction to Wherever, then this is the slump way. Wearing my jacket was a good idea. I had to rummage to see to it it. I cant remember the last time I wore it. I cant up to now remember when I was last come forth of town for a weekend. That would be nice a weekend out with a few friends- not that Id ask.Theyd probably be busy near(prenominal)way. Ok, I cannot get distracted. I shall offer on. Left, right, left, right. Im starting to enjoy this monotony. Yes, this is rather pleasant, rather agreeable. I look some for some sort of landmark, or something to help me recognise where I am. I wont admit to being lost because that would call into the question of my destination, which, to be honest, is nonoperational unbeknownst t o me. Ill just meander along this way. God, Im knackered, I could use a chocolate bar. Yes, a chocolate bar is what I need, along with a nice drink.But not until I get there, I moldiness keep on going. Oh, a house. Its a tall looming house, with ivy crawl over it, its brambles resembling long green tendrils, or fingers, curling crispy and browned at the tips. Whats that scuttling across the front porch? A grubby, greasy blur speed past. I lean forward as if to grab it, but its bypast before Im even close. I force myself upwards, and see a entrance in front of me. The faded red rouge is flaking. I guide my hand towards it and absentmindedly begin to peel it back. I wonder wherefore Ive never seen this house before.I wonder why I havent seen any of this area before whatsoever. A chill overcomes me, engulfing me in a stuttering shudder. Its cold, and late. It mustiness be gone five in the morning by now. Oh well. A bleak throng of clouds tumble over the nights sky, devouring any slow traces of warmth. I pull my jacket tighter around me and shiver again, glancing around, praying, pleading, for some objet dartnequin of refuge. The house is not an option, its someones home. I cant break in. Not now, anyway. I stray towards a large wooden gate.I thwack it open, shocking myself as I do so. An ear-piercing screech of pain comes from the gate, want a yearling p buncombeesting against eating the remnants of her cereal. I guess my thwacking skills arent quite up to par, the gates stuck. What now? forrad again? Alright, Ill stomp my feel around a bit to doctor up some warmth to my pathetic shell of a body. Thats better, slightly. Argh, my eyes near plonker has his headlights on full and hes facing me head-on. Perhaps I should step out the way.Oh, hes slowing down. My rescuer, maybe? That would be nice What the hell do you turn over you were doing, standing in the middle of the road at this ungodly moment? I see spots. I whimper. The mans face is weather ed and tired. It reminds me of amaze Christmas, now hes a lovely bloke. A dreamy smile is wafting onto my face. The man looks at me as if Im deranged and creepy, and then accelerates off into the night. Im shivering. I am literally shivering. I desperately need shelter before I get pneumonia. That house. That old, ruinous house. I turn around, stumbling over a rock. thither it is, standing tall and imposing, yet strangely familiar.Whoever owns it has made a sad attempt at remodelling it, adding a modern extension and painting the wall. Well, some of it at least. The path has deep, cavernous cracks and so I have to be careful not to cut my bare feet on the fragments. A knock off flowerbox hangs by a window, the flowers long dead. I examine it closer, noting the what-used-to-be-dark-green-but-is-now-discoloured-pale-turquoise crusty paint on the criss-crossed wood. Again, I feel a faint wave of familiarity- like an echo from the past. With a shudder I glance around fleetingly for a side entrance. A swing.An old, plastic-y swing, with faded yellow rope, neglected and left to rot in the grass for the next millennia. A childs laughter, my laughter. A hot spend morning we were having a barbeque. I swung on this swing. I lived in this house. The memories come flooding, hitting me with a wave of nausea. I look up at the house, my house, my poor, poor house. Mutilated, derelict, left piteously to ruin. Its ugly, horrific. My once beautiful house is tone like a dump. This grass was once green, and this porch was once magnificently up kept. Memories. I now know why I didnt recognise it at first.All those memories, those awful memories, blocked out for all these years. I postponement my head and keel over, onto the callous ground. There is an immense pressure on my head. Bottled up for all these years, its finally unleashed on me again. I convulse and vomit, thus further disfiguring the house. Another sharp burst of pain in my side. Im in agony, reliving the past. Im dying. Im dying at the place of my birth whoever came up with the diffuse of Life must be smug. I convulse one much time and pass out, my head in a fug of trapped memories, postponement to be recollected.