Hey uhm, hi, sorry for the long wait, I have school and shit so...yeah there you go.
-So.. that's it!
-Dude, I love this place, can't wait to come here again..
-Wellp, you will. so do you know the way home? How will you get there?
-Oh I'll just take the bus, no big deal.
-OK then, have a nice day.
-See ya brother!
(R)- God fucking damn it he sucked out all the energy I had left in me..I better head to work.
The fog was no more, but the sky had a baby blue blanket of clouds. The wind was caressing Raymond's cheek while whispering hope into his soul. He missed his bus because of Andrew so he would just have to walk home listening to music. He hummed as the traffic was zooming past him and suddenly, for some reason...
"I think you should stay away from the road"
He looked to the side of the road. Nobody was there..
"Over here! Turn around silly!"
There was a narrow passage in which a little silhouette appeared. it seemed to be a little boy who ran away while giggling. The Space between the two houses seemed familiar for some reason...why though? He decided to run after the kid, he ran and ran after the sound of that happy thing. He needed to know what was so funny. He wanted to understand what was the reason to be so exited for something. Short after the laughing stopped. He reached some kind of an abandoned shack that seemed to be forgotten so long ago... though it was welcoming. It felt warm being there. No wind, no traffic, no noise...nothing. he walked up the stairs of the building and removed the dust from the iron rectangular address box.
Lincoln St.
№12+1
Property of X.T. O'Connor.
-Well, well, well.. who are you sir?..Or ma'am?
Ray pulled out his checkered blue notepad and wrote down the name
-"X.T. O'Connor."... hm... we'll see.
Ray looked around. This street didn't seem familiar. There was a forest starting on the opposite of the road.
-(It must be the outskirts.)-He thought.
*crack* *thump*
(who-?)
the spruce tree nearby dropped a branch, which caused Ray to look up. There was something hanging on one of the branches of the tree. it was a black key. He couldn't reach it at first but 10-20 jumps later he reached it, and ran to the door to try to open the door. The lock clicked and the door opened up. The amount of dust there was unbelievable. Everything was covered in webs but overall, it was a cozy place. Dirty, sky blue sofa and couches, a dark wooden coffee table, the wooden cubes with ABCs on them, red, withered flowers in a cyan vase, a broken cuckoo clock, a buffet full of porcelain plates, and there were stairs at the left of the largebroad room that was accompanied by a kitchen bar. It was too, made out of spruce... that must be the living room...it is so weird that robbers didn't steal a thing from here... just a little clean-up and this house would've been as good as new. it had tons of rooms and space to explore through. How could you pass up an opportunity like this? That's right you couldn't....
There was a wine shelf, filled up to the half with old wine bottles, an old stove, a fridge that looked prehistorical, and white, lace curtains. The walls were filled with oil paintings of crimson red Ageratums, and Dahlias. Sometimes, even black eyed susans would appear in the vases...All of them..Dead...yet why do paintings remain so clear? Clear, as the day that they were drawn on? How is it fair to the ones, who were not worthy for the artist to fancy the shape and the colour of theirs..? I guess we are like them. Some die, and lose their beauty as they rot away, in big shoeboxes for rats, where they were led in by a poisoned crumb of bread. In this case, a man dies from greed. If you died from obesity, you were gluttonous, if you died from doing nothing, but sitting and counting dust particles all day, you died from wanting too much free time, die from being way too famous, somebody wanted to be you and felt the said greed... In the end, we are nothing, but sinful creatures of the universe that we dwell upon, nothing but narcissistic little nonentities, who think the world is their oyster. The thing about us, humans...is that we are no longer human.
The rails of the staircase had a quite unique shape, it was pointy at both ends, which was pretty odd, since there were kids living in the house, because they could've hurt themselves.he decided to follow up the stairs to see what other secrets this house could hold.
There was a big hallway with 5 rooms. 4 on the sides, and 1 in the end of the corridor. At the other end of the corridor was a desk covered in white sheets, looking like a ghost calling for you to look what it hides. After approaching it and throwing the cloth aside, Raymond saw a still clock with a broken glass, a porcelain vase with strangely no plants in it and a few empty picture frames...seems like nobody wanted him to know who lived here. Or they ran away, wanting to keep the memories they created in their life...
Ray looked at his watch. The wristwatch showed 5:13.
(SHIT!)-he thought to himself.
He rushed out the door and closed it with a struggle, the rust didn't help one bit. All this crap and now great, he is late for work. Brilliant! how can he even get there in 17 minutes? The nursing home was in the center of the town. Seems like he had to go by metro, where all sweaty, noisy, angry, tired people gather and trigger his sensory issues. Medication wasn't intended for that and it was gonna wear off so he was hoping for the worst. He needed to be there on time, he always was. Ray wouldn't miss a day on his job just for one reason. One and only reason was seeing his grandfather. The smile on his face was worth sitting in white, nearly empty rooms and white hallways filled with porcelain vases and statues with light brown furniture in each room. At least he made that place feel better.. board games were more fun, stories told a hundred times were just as interesting, teaching tai chi... wasn't as boring.
Metro.. nearest place to hell...Get it? Because it's underground? Ah, forget it, you wouldn't pay much attention to that when you have to get through the disgusting crowd of people that crosses your way. The smell is familiar, rotten flesh, cigarettes, cheap perfume, yet no scent of toothpaste. Not an ounce. No minty feeling whatsoever, only smoke, cold, and chatter...
his head feels like it's pulsating. He kept falling into the abyss of thinking of worst case scenario. He could be mugged, stabbed, choked, shot - anything. Everything that could bring harm was people..people...people..they talk and blabber about unimportant things, how Becky got a bad haircut, how Steve is a douchebag, how Samantha is a cheater..all this unimportant information...and it's all making the air stagger, you can feel someone breath behind you, talk behind you, yell and scream and shout and you realize you can't take it anymore...all that chatter, chatter, chatter, chatter,Chatter, CHATTER, CHATTER, CHATTER, CHATTER, CHATTER-
*dinging melodically* Nechto Avenue, Next station, Picasso Square
Next thing you know it's his stop. All that worrying and sinking into his mind made him pass through all that. Sometimes, he's glad time goes fast with his racing thoughts.
And there it is, St. Bernadette's house for the elderly.
YOU ARE READING
December
General Fictionthe main character is just an ordinary dude who you might realate to but he has a shit ton of anxiety going on in his head, he also thinks he is going insane but read to find out whether anyone will save him or not.
