Musings on Life from a Dead Girl

Locked

Every day when I come home from work, I try and open the door only for it to be locked.
Every day I stare at the bronze mechanism that guards our house waiting for it suddenly to change.
To come undone
As if they had never forgotten me to begin with
I think of how my father waits by the entry way for my mother.
Unlatching the door so she is free to slip inside while he fixes her supper.
How he paces the halls until my sister comes home at night
How he greets her on the porch
I stand outside.
What had I done wrong?
They knew my all too-familiar hours, when I'd be home
They knew I was working.
All their cars were home.
Had I missed the Rapture?
I unlock the door and step inside the kitchen.
The lights are off.
I stand in the darkness waiting for
For something
Anything
Nothing comes.
No one comes.
I strip my coat and hat.
Throwing my key down and moving farther inside the house
My sister sits on the sofa.
Her face in her phone
I wordlessly move past her.
She never looks up.
I flow into my father's studio.
He looks at me over a scowl with inky hands.
I turn down the hall to find my mother her mind enraptured in the television like 451.
I walk into my bedroom and lock the world out.