Hedwig/Hansel Schmidt (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
beautifulandnew) wrote2015-05-24 06:25 pm
beautifulandnew) wrote2015-05-24 06:25 pm
Look what you've done.
As far as strange occurrences in Darrow are concerned, this one doesn't quite rank as high as perhaps a vast majority of the city's inhabitants vanishing, but it's most definitely higher up than a deceased pop star rising from the dead to perform New Year's Eve. Madonna does it every few years and, as a whole, the world barely bats a collective eyelash anymore.
To anyone else coming or going from the apartment building or walking up and down the street, the new fixture is probably nothing more than an eyesore and the subject of a complaint call to some city official's office or another. To me, however, it was home. Or it used to be.
I recognize the trailer instantly and it draws me in just as quickly, despite not knowing why or how it is suddenly taking up entirely too much space outside my current address. There are dozens of questions swimming around in my head, and with absolutely zero answers to any of them, there's barely a sign of hesitation as I reach for the doorknob and step inside.
And back in time.
There are lines of freshly laundered clothes hung through the trailer's interior, a half empty drink and a guitar lying on the far end. It's sunny outside, so I know it's just in my head, but I swear I can hear the sound of rainfall against the windows and on the roof. And urgent footsteps running over wet grass.
Running away.
None of that is out there, I know it, or the logical part of me does, but now that I'm inside, I'm too scared too look out to confirm it for certain.
The footsteps fade in the distance before long, but there's still the rain. Steady, calming in a way, a white noise that drowns out the fact that every fiber of my being is screaming for me to leave, and I can't.
To anyone else coming or going from the apartment building or walking up and down the street, the new fixture is probably nothing more than an eyesore and the subject of a complaint call to some city official's office or another. To me, however, it was home. Or it used to be.
I recognize the trailer instantly and it draws me in just as quickly, despite not knowing why or how it is suddenly taking up entirely too much space outside my current address. There are dozens of questions swimming around in my head, and with absolutely zero answers to any of them, there's barely a sign of hesitation as I reach for the doorknob and step inside.
And back in time.
There are lines of freshly laundered clothes hung through the trailer's interior, a half empty drink and a guitar lying on the far end. It's sunny outside, so I know it's just in my head, but I swear I can hear the sound of rainfall against the windows and on the roof. And urgent footsteps running over wet grass.
Running away.
None of that is out there, I know it, or the logical part of me does, but now that I'm inside, I'm too scared too look out to confirm it for certain.
The footsteps fade in the distance before long, but there's still the rain. Steady, calming in a way, a white noise that drowns out the fact that every fiber of my being is screaming for me to leave, and I can't.