I can’t go downstairs. If I do, something bad will happen. The bad things always happen downstairs.
I remain where I am. In my upstairs room. The door locked and a small lamp burning. Everything should be fine.
A door slams and my heart slams too.
He is back.
I keep quiet. But keeping quiet is never foolproof. I exist in my self-made silence but no amount of silence can guarantee safety.
The world is a dangerous place.
So is this house.
For me, the house is my world. It’s really all I know.
His knocks on the door slay my slamming heart.
I hide in my silence, fully aware it doesn’t matter. It never does.
He keys the door open and enters.
I say nothing, as usual. Saying anything makes it worse.
I want to morph into nothingness. Then I would be perfect.
He comes over and tugs on…
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