As I explored the universe inside my own self, I saw the remains of a once grand and beautiful mansion. The roof was caving in, and the windows were boarded up. The yard had skeletons of what used to be familiar, and the property-just the property-was in black and white instead of the vibrant colors I was used to. I strode up the cracked and broken sidewalk and stopped at the foot of the porch stairs.
The paint was peeling, the floorboards had moss and rusty nails covering them, and the railing all but disintegrated at my touch. I tip-toed across the porch and prepared to knock at the door Curiously, the door opened without any provocation. Stepping inside, I looked at the water stains running down the drab yet unmistakably obvious living room.
Pictures on the wall were hung askew, as if a mild earthquake had struck during the owner's absence. The fireplace was overflowing with ashes and soot, and the furniture was protected by dusty, moth-eaten, gray sheets.
Walking away from the haunting image, I walked straight into a darkroom. Hung from string criss-crossing the ceiling's edges were pictures of little children playing with sticks and wrestling in the grass. In another picture was a happy family with beautiful clothes and beautiful faces. As I kept walking through the room, there were pictures showing love, joy, contentment, unity, acceptance, and trust. Turning around the way I came in, however, the pictures were horrifically different.
From the back, the pictures took on a whole new look. No longer were the children laughing, no longer where they playing in the yard. The bruises that were covered by the little girl's clothes were prominent and gruesome. The boy's face was filled with longing and remorse, sadness and humiliation. Terrified, I rushed past the photo, only to run right into a more disturbing image.
A skeleton stood before me, arms in front of the body. The almost-transparent skin on the figure hung off in strips. Tear paths were red with dried blood. The young woman in the picture was looking straight at the camera, face void of emotion. Except her eyes. Oh, her eyes. They screamed pain more loudly than any person using amplifiers and microphones ever could.
Running out of the darkroom, I sprinted up the steps toward what looked like a bedroom. I threw open the door and cried. I knew without a doubt this room belonged to the young woman in the picture. Drug pipes and empty bottles covered the floor, and cigarettes and torn-apart razor blades were littered on the bed. I looked around, and a part of the wall near the floor was missing.
I looked inside the hole, and entered a dimly-lit room. Candles cast flickering images on the circular room's one continuous wall. Taking a candle, I walked closer to the wall and noticed there were messages etched into the plaster and wood. "They won't listen..Why won't they listen?!" "You're tearing this family apart!" "This is just a dream.." "Do I have to scream for you to hear me?!" "I need to escape. I need to die.."
I backed away from the horror-movie-type words and found myself in front of a door. Except it didn't look like a door. It looked like a safe, complete with a lock. I typed the password into the keyboard, and the safe creaked open with a shudder. Turning on the light, I gasped. I knew this room! This was my room! I hid my secrets, hopes, dreams, and loves in this room. There, on the wall, was a picture of Matt and I hugging. Next to that was a poem from James. Then, the lyrics to A Drop in the Ocean. I picked a paper up off the floor. It was the poem from Michael, telling me to stay strong. Under that, the letters from Jess. Along the far wall was a giant mural of everything I regret leaving. There's Cono and the Eby family. And Gramma and the girls. And Sharon and Brittany! And then I see the young woman- alive. No, wait. That's mirror. is that me? Is that what I look like? I started running down the stairs, out into the yard. Safely away from the mansion, I turned to look again..And screamed.
This mansion, this worn-down mansion..It's my heart.
The paint was peeling, the floorboards had moss and rusty nails covering them, and the railing all but disintegrated at my touch. I tip-toed across the porch and prepared to knock at the door Curiously, the door opened without any provocation. Stepping inside, I looked at the water stains running down the drab yet unmistakably obvious living room.
Pictures on the wall were hung askew, as if a mild earthquake had struck during the owner's absence. The fireplace was overflowing with ashes and soot, and the furniture was protected by dusty, moth-eaten, gray sheets.
Walking away from the haunting image, I walked straight into a darkroom. Hung from string criss-crossing the ceiling's edges were pictures of little children playing with sticks and wrestling in the grass. In another picture was a happy family with beautiful clothes and beautiful faces. As I kept walking through the room, there were pictures showing love, joy, contentment, unity, acceptance, and trust. Turning around the way I came in, however, the pictures were horrifically different.
From the back, the pictures took on a whole new look. No longer were the children laughing, no longer where they playing in the yard. The bruises that were covered by the little girl's clothes were prominent and gruesome. The boy's face was filled with longing and remorse, sadness and humiliation. Terrified, I rushed past the photo, only to run right into a more disturbing image.
A skeleton stood before me, arms in front of the body. The almost-transparent skin on the figure hung off in strips. Tear paths were red with dried blood. The young woman in the picture was looking straight at the camera, face void of emotion. Except her eyes. Oh, her eyes. They screamed pain more loudly than any person using amplifiers and microphones ever could.
Running out of the darkroom, I sprinted up the steps toward what looked like a bedroom. I threw open the door and cried. I knew without a doubt this room belonged to the young woman in the picture. Drug pipes and empty bottles covered the floor, and cigarettes and torn-apart razor blades were littered on the bed. I looked around, and a part of the wall near the floor was missing.
I looked inside the hole, and entered a dimly-lit room. Candles cast flickering images on the circular room's one continuous wall. Taking a candle, I walked closer to the wall and noticed there were messages etched into the plaster and wood. "They won't listen..Why won't they listen?!" "You're tearing this family apart!" "This is just a dream.." "Do I have to scream for you to hear me?!" "I need to escape. I need to die.."
I backed away from the horror-movie-type words and found myself in front of a door. Except it didn't look like a door. It looked like a safe, complete with a lock. I typed the password into the keyboard, and the safe creaked open with a shudder. Turning on the light, I gasped. I knew this room! This was my room! I hid my secrets, hopes, dreams, and loves in this room. There, on the wall, was a picture of Matt and I hugging. Next to that was a poem from James. Then, the lyrics to A Drop in the Ocean. I picked a paper up off the floor. It was the poem from Michael, telling me to stay strong. Under that, the letters from Jess. Along the far wall was a giant mural of everything I regret leaving. There's Cono and the Eby family. And Gramma and the girls. And Sharon and Brittany! And then I see the young woman- alive. No, wait. That's mirror. is that me? Is that what I look like? I started running down the stairs, out into the yard. Safely away from the mansion, I turned to look again..And screamed.
This mansion, this worn-down mansion..It's my heart.
