The Attic (An Original Short Story)
Jan 16, 2011 14:28:50 GMT -5
Post by Bitter Laugh on Jan 16, 2011 14:28:50 GMT -5
The Attic
My eyes dart back and forth, looking for a good place to hide. I see a closet slightly ajar in the corner of the house and run to it, trying to make as little noise with my feet as possible. I open the door to the closet, letting out a loud noise in doing so. I grunt and run somewhere else, barely tapping my bare feet on the wooden floor. Sweat beads my brow as I hear my sister shouting, “20, 21, 22.” I panic for a moment, not seeing any other places to hide.
Out of the corner of my eye I notice that the ladder that leads to the attic is open. I dash over to the wooden hideaway and place my left foot on to the first peg. I can feel my feet getting scraped by the wood, but I ignore it. I quickly scale the ladder and find myself in a large, hot room that has many old toys stored in it. In one corner I see a Barbie Dreamhouse and in the other I see a jack-in-the-box. I shiver with fear. Those things always scared me.
“30! Here I come!” Blithe – my sister – yells triumphantly. I giggle as I pull the ladder up into the attic where it belongs. Just before the trapdoor to the attic shuts, I hear her feet loudly banging on the ground below. I giggle in spite of myself as I realize that she will never find me.
My eyes wander once again to the Barbie Dreamhouse. Its plastic walls are colored a faded pink that makes me feel sad. It looks abandoned and old. I walk slowly over to it, my feet aching from the long journey around the house. Once I am standing directly in front of it I softly sit down, being careful not to harm my white dress in the process. My hands fiddle with the little Barbies inside of it, trying to figure out a way to withdraw them from their captivity. One of them has only one eye and no hair. I sigh, remembering all of the times that this was like a palace for me; so wonderful, with no sorrow or remorse.
My feet carry me over to the red and yellow jack-in-a-box that watched me with wild eyes. I laugh, realizing that his red hair is pointed in all directions. I brush the hair back down to where it should be and then push him deep inside of the box, locking it carefully. With a deep curiosity I begin to wind the crank that is on the right side of the colorful box. A soft, out of pitch tune begins to play quietly. The jack-in-the-box pops out at me, his hair crazy once again. I laugh as I push him right back into the box, lock it, and then stand up to walk back downstairs.
“She will never find me,” I laugh. I walk over to the trapdoor and open it as silently as I can. I lower the ladder, look back at the old toys one more time, and then place my left foot on the first peg.
Author's Note: There is a lot of symbolism in this story. Please give me your thoughts as to what that symbolism is so that I can see if it is showing through as well as I hope it does. Thanks for reading! You guys are what keep me writing!
My eyes dart back and forth, looking for a good place to hide. I see a closet slightly ajar in the corner of the house and run to it, trying to make as little noise with my feet as possible. I open the door to the closet, letting out a loud noise in doing so. I grunt and run somewhere else, barely tapping my bare feet on the wooden floor. Sweat beads my brow as I hear my sister shouting, “20, 21, 22.” I panic for a moment, not seeing any other places to hide.
Out of the corner of my eye I notice that the ladder that leads to the attic is open. I dash over to the wooden hideaway and place my left foot on to the first peg. I can feel my feet getting scraped by the wood, but I ignore it. I quickly scale the ladder and find myself in a large, hot room that has many old toys stored in it. In one corner I see a Barbie Dreamhouse and in the other I see a jack-in-the-box. I shiver with fear. Those things always scared me.
“30! Here I come!” Blithe – my sister – yells triumphantly. I giggle as I pull the ladder up into the attic where it belongs. Just before the trapdoor to the attic shuts, I hear her feet loudly banging on the ground below. I giggle in spite of myself as I realize that she will never find me.
My eyes wander once again to the Barbie Dreamhouse. Its plastic walls are colored a faded pink that makes me feel sad. It looks abandoned and old. I walk slowly over to it, my feet aching from the long journey around the house. Once I am standing directly in front of it I softly sit down, being careful not to harm my white dress in the process. My hands fiddle with the little Barbies inside of it, trying to figure out a way to withdraw them from their captivity. One of them has only one eye and no hair. I sigh, remembering all of the times that this was like a palace for me; so wonderful, with no sorrow or remorse.
My feet carry me over to the red and yellow jack-in-a-box that watched me with wild eyes. I laugh, realizing that his red hair is pointed in all directions. I brush the hair back down to where it should be and then push him deep inside of the box, locking it carefully. With a deep curiosity I begin to wind the crank that is on the right side of the colorful box. A soft, out of pitch tune begins to play quietly. The jack-in-the-box pops out at me, his hair crazy once again. I laugh as I push him right back into the box, lock it, and then stand up to walk back downstairs.
“She will never find me,” I laugh. I walk over to the trapdoor and open it as silently as I can. I lower the ladder, look back at the old toys one more time, and then place my left foot on the first peg.
Author's Note: There is a lot of symbolism in this story. Please give me your thoughts as to what that symbolism is so that I can see if it is showing through as well as I hope it does. Thanks for reading! You guys are what keep me writing!
