The House By SAMUDITA MYSORE

The house lay in darkness that would not be pierced. It was alone as the deafening silence filled the air; it was almost tangible. Sending shivers down my spine, I approached the ruins. My feeble and skeletal legs were trembling fearfully as I recalled its memories. I never thought I'd be here again.

Hovering dangerously over the scattered pieces of jagged glass, I stared through the open window, its shards silenced me. I thought deeply. If the man hasn't entered this building, if he hadn't found that smirking knife, if he hadn't attacked, then and only then would that innocent life hasn't been saved.

Beside the window, hung an unpainted and weathered door. As I leaned in, my curiosity took a hold of me. The wanted sign still remain attached it it from all those years ago. Slowly, I brushed my hand against it and the decrepit, dusty door. Glancing down, I noticed something: the door knob. It was wiped clean. Aghast, I stumbled back, panic closing my throat.

Hugging my knees, I quietly whispered to myself: there was nothing to fear. Finally, I took deep, much-needed, breaths as one last tear escaped my eyes. My body loosened a little, as I stood back up. But my eyes, fists and jaw remained clenched.

'I am a stronger person now.' I whispered to myself. I opened my closed eyes, as fear turned into determination. Approaching the house, it seems as though the house was in fact empty. Its eerie silence filled the air once again. The lawn was unkempt and disorganised as I made my way through it. The driveway on my right lay full of weeds and all other sorts of poisonous plants that he kept, a barrier of sorts. It didn't keep me in. It wouldn't keep me out now.

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Mrs price
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