by Juliana Wey

Created on: August 24, 2008

A World Full of Nothingness

Each day she was scared to face what was beyond that solid block of wood called a front door. She turned the key and stepped over the threshold, the house echoes the quietness from wall to wall.

She places her bags on the stairs, then takes off her coat and locked the door, knowing that this would be the last time it would be opened to the next day; even thought it was only 6pm.

She walks into the kitchen and puts on the kettle, as she waits for it to boil, her mind drifts off to another place. She images his arms around her, he is kissing her on the neck, "how's your day been?" he says, "I've missed you today, what would you like for dinner?" She closed her eyes pretending to feel his embrace; she chuckles to herself, as she images him wrapping his arms around her waist. "Do you want a coffee?" she says to him, as she listens to the kettle boiling.

The kettle clicks, which snaps her back to reality. She sighs and takes a single mug from the cupboard and makes her coffee. Then she picks up her bags and mounts the stairs with the heaviness that consumes her.

She had no family to talk of; when her parent gave her away they had taken all her family members also. So there was nobody in her life that really cared for her. She could have died in the house and nobody would know for days and days, maybe even weeks or months.

As she walks through her bedroom door she images him laying on the bed, "come here baby," he says, "I've run you a nice hot bath with your favourite bubbles. She sits down on the bed and kick off her shoes, she images him kissing her neck again and his muscular hands massaging her shoulders and stroking her long hair. She takes a deep breath in and lets it out very slowly and precisely, as if she is savouring the moment, "that's great" she says out loud, caught up in her imagination, but it's also real to her.

She jumps, the knock at the front door, startles her, she's not excepting anyone, and she knows no one is going to call, even thought its only 6.30pm. Who could that possible be she thought to herself? It most be the landlord, because she had rang him about the felt coming off the shed in that hurricane wind that had happened a few nights before. That was scary with the wind howling around the house. The tree outside her bedroom window kept thumping against the glass, which kept her awake most of the night. The dark and creepy shadows that were forming through the drawn curtains and on the walls, made her very uncomfortable

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