Stairway and Dusty Medicine Bag
Day One.
The psychologist said I have to. Apparently just keeping memories in my head is not even safe anymore. I don’t, can’t remember. Anything. All my accomplishments, all my milestones, even last night’s dinner fade out from my mind eventually. And what can I do about it? Nothing. That is the answer. So in order to keep what little thoughts I have left, I need to lock them away, safe and sound in a journal.
Maya snapped into focus at the sound of creaking floorboards.
‘Hello?’
A worried little face peered around the torn hole that was once a doorway. The girl tiptoed around the missing gaps in the floor, past the pipe jutting out of the wall and came to a stop by the rusty bed. ‘Maya, Joe wants to see you in the kitchen.’ Her brown eyes darted to the side as she looked both ways and then whispered, ‘Now’.
Maya sighed exasperatedly. ‘Thanks, Luce. I’ll be right down.’
Lucy nodded and then darted out, flashing Maya an apologetic grimace. Maya shook her head. Joe. She was in trouble, again.
A sharp pain shot up Maya’s leg. She looked down to see a piece of wood sticking into her ankle. No one had fixed the broken step, then. Joe had asked her to do that. Oh no. Is that what he wanted to see her about? However a scream that shook the house quickly made her realise that this was much more serious.
‘MAYA!’
Maya sprinted down the staircase, pushing past a bewildered two year old. ‘Sorry Finch!’ She yelled.
A large man turned to face the bleeding girl who had just tumbled down the flight of stairs before him. The large veins on his head seemed to pulse even faster than usual. He ran his fingers through the non-existent hair on his head. ‘Jesus. Paul, get Susan. Tell her to fetch the first aid kit.’ The teenage boy looked through his fringe at Joe, his face remaining expressionless. ‘K.’ He stood up and walked slowly and awkwardly towards the living room. Joe rolled his eyes. That boy was just like a lanky sponge. He turned to face the present dilemma.
The psychologist said I have to. Apparently just keeping memories in my head is not even safe anymore. I don’t, can’t remember. Anything. All my accomplishments, all my milestones, even last night’s dinner fade out from my mind eventually. And what can I do about it? Nothing. That is the answer. So in order to keep what little thoughts I have left, I need to lock them away, safe and sound in a journal.
Maya snapped into focus at the sound of creaking floorboards.
‘Hello?’
A worried little face peered around the torn hole that was once a doorway. The girl tiptoed around the missing gaps in the floor, past the pipe jutting out of the wall and came to a stop by the rusty bed. ‘Maya, Joe wants to see you in the kitchen.’ Her brown eyes darted to the side as she looked both ways and then whispered, ‘Now’.
Maya sighed exasperatedly. ‘Thanks, Luce. I’ll be right down.’
Lucy nodded and then darted out, flashing Maya an apologetic grimace. Maya shook her head. Joe. She was in trouble, again.
A sharp pain shot up Maya’s leg. She looked down to see a piece of wood sticking into her ankle. No one had fixed the broken step, then. Joe had asked her to do that. Oh no. Is that what he wanted to see her about? However a scream that shook the house quickly made her realise that this was much more serious.
‘MAYA!’
Maya sprinted down the staircase, pushing past a bewildered two year old. ‘Sorry Finch!’ She yelled.
A large man turned to face the bleeding girl who had just tumbled down the flight of stairs before him. The large veins on his head seemed to pulse even faster than usual. He ran his fingers through the non-existent hair on his head. ‘Jesus. Paul, get Susan. Tell her to fetch the first aid kit.’ The teenage boy looked through his fringe at Joe, his face remaining expressionless. ‘K.’ He stood up and walked slowly and awkwardly towards the living room. Joe rolled his eyes. That boy was just like a lanky sponge. He turned to face the present dilemma.