For me, home is just a place I am indebted to go every evening. If I had any other option, I would gladly leave this materialistic piece of structural shit forever. It doesn't feel home to me.
As I pull open the door, I can almost hear my mother screaming at me to leave my shoes back outside. But I know they aren't there. That I am making it all up. That I am pretending, so that the weight of loss doesn't hit me so hard.
But I do walk back to leave the shoes at the doorstep. The silence is heart-breaking. The same house which was always filled of giggles and laughs and screams, now resembles a graveyard. I can feel the clinking of vessels in the kitchen and know it's the servant but I am too tired to go and tell her hello.
I enter my room, only to slump on the bed, too exhausted to change. And I then imagine my mom mutter, "Have you changed to your home clothes, darling?" And I force myself to get up and get into my pajamas.
I lie down on my bed and stare at the pink ceiling; the same ceiling that once had fluorescent sticker stars. Those same stars that I ripped down because it sounded too childish, because my brother wanted to spend his time here watching them. And because, I wanted to get rid of him.
I wish I could remain forever staring into the ceiling. I don't know how much time has passed when I wake back up. There is a tray of food on my bedside table and I wonder how cold it would be. I eat because I feel drained. The coffee is bitter but I still drink it. The sandwich is cold but I still eat it. Bitterness and coldness do not matter anymore.
When I am done, I lay back on the bed. I turn face down to feel the fluffy bed on my face. The overwhelming scent of my mother's favourite perfume hits me hard. I don't know if I am imagining it. It's so good, I hold on.
As the owls start howling out in the night, I restart imagining sounds downstairs. I hear my mom playing the piano, my dad singing along to it and Teddy squealing in glee. Now, it feels home but I know it is happening inside my head.
I clutch onto the pillows and grit my teeth, because I know its coming. I hug the pillows tight and tell my brain that its mom. But it doesn't feel as warm as her. It feels cold and distant.
The whirlwind hits me like a train wreck all of a sudden.
And I start to cry.
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A/N
We hit 50 votes and I can't even describe that amazing feeling! Thank you to all the people who have been following this book closely. I know there are quite a few silent readers as well. It would be great if you guys would vote but it's completely okay though! Thanks a lot for reading. :D
Today's question: How do you think Eira's parents died?
Lina!
P.S.: The rank is going up and up and up. It's #49 in Short Story today. WOW.