Coffin Scent: A Testimony

Chapter Two - A Breakthrough

A BREAKTHROUGH
With her two hands, she gifted me death.
⚜

The summer day is warm. There is no humidity. The birds are chirping. The trees dance with the breeze. It is a great day to take a walk, maybe hitchhike to the city, but that is not a leisure I can take. Dragging the sack so far has tired me out. With every step I take, pain surges through my body. The hair on my legs is sticky, mingled with blood and greenery. I find myself near a cabin, falling apart as in the photograph. Its door is hanging on its hinges, and filth covers everything in sight around and inside it. Its garden is overgrown, two trees extending their branches into the windows of the upper floor. I look back at the picture and rejoice at finding the cabin.

I heave the sack up the steps, breaking off parts of it as I go. Mice scatter from under the wood in all directions. Finally, I let myself into the privacy of the building and look around instinctively. Familiarity tugs at me despite the urgency of the situation: There is a sofa, green and slightly muddied, albeit ripped open in a few places. A television is in front of it, its screen cracked from the left bottom edge. The floor is littered with empty alcohol bottles, the table between the sofa and TV with cigarette stubs. One of the windows is slightly open; a breeze flows in through it. I keep to the side, trying to avoid stepping on broken glass, walking into the kitchen next. Dust rests atop everything. It seems to me there is nobody else in the house, but I dare not raise my voice to check. In the kitchen, plastic bags, open cans, and pieces of food top the ceramic counters. Although the place is much messier than mine, I realize that it is furnished almost exactly like my own house. I drop the sack in the kitchen, where I start to search for more clues. The bulbs are burnt out, the electricity and water are cut. I realize it is unsafe to stay here until night. I raise my head, take in a deep breath. The dust makes me cough. My eyes water. There is no way a hostage or a kidnapper could be hiding here, not without making any sound. I find my body falling back against the punctured cabinets in disappointment, my energy draining fast. Although I haven't had anything to drink for as long as I could remember, my throat starts to itch as my eyes rest on the bottles. I check my pockets to see if I had brought my pills, but my luck doesn't serve me. I doubt that I can find any medicine here, but desperation pushes me to check the cabinets in the bathroom just in case, so I rise once again, crossing over the bottles now. The wood creaks with every step I take. The smell of nitrogen is prominent, mixed with the scent of pot. However, I cannot see any cabinets or pills. As I leave the bathroom, I turn to what's left of the staircase that used to lead upstairs, possibly to the bedrooms, now only leading up halfway. I walk around it, under it. There is no sign, no clue. I shiver. The breeze is getting colder. I walk over to the window to close it, where I find my next clue on the outside windowsill: a naked barbie with its breasts chopped off. Like the teddy bear, 'BARBIE NOT FOUND' is plastered on its face.