the crying house
A Shot of Misery #7
We’ve met before. We know you well. We know what scares you. We know what makes your skin crawl.
I am the writer. Let me tell you the tale of the sad house.
You are a house. You are a house with 4 external walls. They are wind beaten, and greying. Your roof, all red slated, is heavy with salted moss and pigeon mess.
You have a fence, waist high to the average adult, that does not work effectively to keep anyone in or anyone out. You are aesthetic. You look good in photographs. You are well priced for the summer holidayers who rent you for a week at a time.
It is winter and you have been put into hibernation by the married couple that own you. They have taken down your listing from the internet. No one has visited you in months. You haven’t been warmed by the log burner, or the central heating. Your inner walls have grown damp without that heat, though you hide it well under warped wallpaper.
There are rats who dart freely in your attic. They have started a family, who in turn have started a family. Your floors absorb their piss.
Your boiler has frozen. It will break when your owners turn it back on. When it does, they will say horrible things about you. When they get the bill to fix your boiler, they will curse you.
As they redress you for the summer months, they will discover the rot in your wooden beams. They will see the mold pouring through your walls. They will discover a bouquet of mushrooms growing under your bath tub, thriving off the pinhole leak in a pipe.
They will curse you once more.
The next time you see them, they will be with a stranger who carries a clipboard. They will speak of large numbers, and how fertile your foundations are.
The last time you will see your owners, they will be taking out rugs, and sofas. You will be left bare.
The last people you see will arrive early in the morning. They will wear high visibility jackets and swing sledge hammers above their heads. They will make your walls tumble and you will be left wondering what it was you did wrong.
We’ve met before. We know you well. We know what scares you. We know what makes your skin crawl. Help me feed this beast. It lives off what makes your stomach turn.
Like a shot of misery that slithers down, its tendrils contain the unborn upset of not knowing til it’ll tear more than just my throat apart. That is, unless you keep it fed with your distress.
We’ll be seeing you soon.
Love this so much!! IMO, you are not a "wannabe" but a legit writer!!
Gosh I’m just obsessed with your writing!