The House

The House

All was well. At least that is what it looked like. The house felt like how it usually feels like; normal for the best part but not so nice for the worst. Why would she even have the nerve to utter such things? Oh well. Let her mind spit it all out. What else can we do about them anyway.

The house is “home.” It can be home. Especially for her who practically grew up there. The walls and ceilings were witnesses to all those twisted nights and lazy days. That day when she fell and rolled over the stairs until she met the ground with no injuries… That one night her aunt kicked her multiple times and woke up her parents… The times she regretted not actually punching her aunt when she was accused that she was about to… The day when her brother threw an empty pitcher to her ankle because he wanted things his way… The times actually had fun with her brothers back in their room and it was almost dinner time. Every nook and cranny of that house saw and partook a role in her life but none of those involved “movement.”

For tonight, maybe she wanted to forget what she had to endure to keep her house home. For this night, this one lazy day that passed had to just… be. It had to just happen. It had to happen even though against her will “to do something and make the house home.”

And by doing something, she did nothing as much as she wanted to make the most out of that. But since it was against her will, she could not make of anything out of the nothing she has done.


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