Jar Of Untitled Memories

Glass Shard Memories

Genre: memories, angst, self-discovery 

Word Count: 2,746

Synopsis: A small, sleepy town to a city. You didn't know who you were anymore. You were troubled by your thoughts and emotions. Going back to your old house, you decided to try and find yourself in the one and only place you called home as you decided to submerge yourself in memories and nostalgia. 

* Apologies in advance for any grammatical errors and parts that just don't make any sense. 

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Driving down the familiar street that I haven't set foot upon for more than ten years, everything felt so familiar yet foreign at the same time as nostalgia washes over me. Foot on the brakes, I stopped the engine and the street quietened that instant. Only the sounds of the birds chirping and the leaves rustling under the wind were audible and I stared in awe at the sight in front of me. It was our old family house. I gulped as I felt butterflies start to arouse in my stomach, anticipating what I will be faced with once I enter the house.

We moved away years ago into a bustling city where the sound of car engines and horns filled the air and your eardrums. It was merely impossible to think in your own headspace as the noises were too hard to block out.

Each person was merely just a pedestrian on the street. You were just like everybody else. People didn't have time to sit down over a cup of coffee, listening to your opinions, entire life montage or the dark thoughts that tormented you every single day, consuming you whole, the thoughts that you tried to push aside but never could. You tried to block out the voices in your head and the noisy vehicles revving on the streets but they transformed into irritating buzzes instead.

Life was not the most enjoyable there and I was hesitant and against moving out into urbanised maze but my father insisted that we do so. Hence, we moved out of the sleepy town to better our futures and his business, broaden our world of opportunities. But in my defence, I liked it better here. Here is home.

I got out of the car and made my way up the steps that led to our elevated garden and up another flight of steps. I stood on the porch the doorknob, pushing the front door inwards. A loud creak came from the heavy slab of oak wood.

Carefully but eagerly, I took my first step into the house, the oak floorboards creaking under my worn-out sneakers, my steps slow but sturdy. The first room I laid my eyes upon was the living room and study situated to my left. Scanning the living room I now stand in, a small smile etches across my face as the corners of my mouth lifted up into a grin, my eyes crinkling into crescent moons. Everything was the exact way that we left it.

After many months of contemplating, my parents eventually decided to keep the house because we could not part with it. Selling the house and seeing another family live in it was something we could never envision.

Memories started to flood in as the nostalgia hits me once again. This unbeatable feeling of being home, the comfort of familiarity was what I longed for for the longest time ever since we left.

White protector sheets draped across the furniture, collecting a significantly thick layer of dust over the many years that this place has been left abandoned.

I swiped my index and middle finger across the sheets, collecting all the dust and scrunched my nose.

This place needs a serious spring cleaning.

I glanced around the room once again and landed my eyes upon the staircase. Curiosity sparked in my heart like the child I once was. The anticipation built up as I reminisce those days when I had just come back from school, rushing through the front door and past the living room, waving and shouting a 'Hi, mum! I'm home!' to my mother who stood in the kitchen.