There’s no use in crying over spilled life, so the option for the less violent route is chosen to maneuver the butt of the scissors into the nose of the assailant. It startles them, and a moment is taken to shake it off. As the composure is recollected, the attacker attempts again to impose harm upon you, but the violence is stopped by the implosion of his face. His person ripples and crinkles like plastic gift basket wrap when exposed to the heat onslaught of a hair dryer. After the implosion is complete, three coins fall to the floor; you don’t hesitate to pocket them.
The rest become fearful and back away. To test out your new found ability, you bop the hand of a nearby coup member, whose disappearance follows suit, and three more coins are added to your pocket. The rest then scurry and bolt, rocking the bus to topple over and people spill out everywhere–some not as lucky as others, coins spurting out like confetti–but you fall with the bus and safely. The coins are transferred from your hand to your bag, and you walk down the city street. The area is on the cusp of the city, an old and elegant suburban feel. The sun begins to set quickly beyond the horizon, sinking low enough to present a burnt orange hue to the evening.
You come across a brick Victorian with most of its lights–interior and exterior–on. The windows beam yellow blemishes upon the rusted onset of night. There is significant movement within the home, people coming up and down the stairs in a semi panic. While standing upon the driveway you can see the people rushing room-to-room and up-and-down staircases. A presumption is constructed about the interior architectural design being inspired by Penrose or M. C. Escher. The people appear to be almost walking on the walls–they aren’t upside down, but the placement of the feet is definitely uncertain. You shake it off the notion because they couldn’t have been walking upside down as their faces blanked of emotion, eyes wide.
A sign sits by the door, welcoming and telling those passing by to step on in. The scent of warm apple caramel something or other fills your nostrils. The foyer is tight and unpleasant to be in. The tight corner to your left leads to a staircase heading upstairs and the stair case immediately to your right heads downstairs. The latter is poorly lit, and heading upstairs seems to be the more suitable option.
The stairwell leading up is narrow. The salmon-colored walls are decorated with sconces and frames. The frames are either blank or decorated with vibrant floral arrangements. The sconces hold flickering bulbs. You hear a person descending the staircase, and you anticipate their running, actually running, into you, and so you stop. The woman, holding a variety of miscellaneous knickknacks asks you if you need anything, and you reply that you do not; the woman says–with a smile–to give her a shout if you do. You round the corner, second guess a question, and you peer back around the corner to ask; however, she’s gone.
You follow the stairs up another flight with no exit in sight, and you hear more steps coming down. Another woman rounds the corner and the same conversation happens. The only exception is that she is empty-handed and continually smiling at you. Reluctantly, you continue to climb the stairs. At the top of the stairs rests a hallway, but a rather short hallway. At the end is a small window–a dead end. The hallway breaks off into two rooms. One is filled with copious children’s clothing, mostly dresses, and the other room is filled with dolls. You don’t go into either, because the notion of horror movies containing these elements scares you. Looking out of the window, the exterior world is dark; the ground is barely seen, and what can be seen of it appears to be over-sized wooden boards… like an attic.
You run down the stairs and the salmon walls are now bare, but you head into the basement. The cavernous basement extends an to an unfathomable amount of space. It looks like an underground tunnel or sewer system, sans pools of water; you can hear water drips echoing in the background. The nooks of the basement are grouped with objects. Furniture sits in one spot, and sofas and beds and all other pieces are grouped together. In another section are toys. Bikes take up one nook. The rest is self explanatory. Weaseling yourself through the system, there is only one path–fortunately–you come to the end. Looking up you see a ladder, which you can hop up to, grab, and pull yourself up.
Through the hatch, you come up through a manhole.
Welcome to the suburbs.
I play with words and invisible objects.
A mind, a pen and a piece paper have the best relationship ever.
"Remember this--if you shut your mouth, you have your choice."
- F. Scott Fitzgerald