Abnormal Dreaming h.s

18.

I had just gotten back from a walk around the neighborhood, yet it was still barely 7 am and each minute seemed to tick slower than the last.

Trying to pass the time, I began to sketch on a piece of computer paper. It was nothing that was meant to be special, I was simply following my subconscious. As I made simple curves and thick brows, I had come to realize I had been unconsciously sketching Harry.

It seemed completely foreign to me, especially since all I would ever do was paint landscapes, now here I was sketching a picture of Harry.

Sighing, I pushed the paper aside, beginning to tap my finger tips along the thick wood of my desk in deep thought, the sound would echo back, making it sound hollow, even though my art supplies were in there.

I opened the drawer in confusion, noticing there was to my surprise, nothing there.

Confused, I try remembering the last time I used them. It was of course, yesterday. When I got back from painting, Harry had come over, and I remember putting the supplies back in this drawer because I used one of my sketch pencils for the note I wrote to my aunt.

I was beyond confused, and it ran by my mind that maybe my aunt could've taken them. That wouldn't make sense however, because why would she need art supplies when she was rarely ever home?

I stood up anxiously, looking around my room to see if I might have imagined putting them back, but in reality, they were laying around somewhere.

However, there was nothing around. Everything was in its place from my pile of clothes that needed to be washed overfilling the hamper, to my perfumes and lotions sitting on the dresser.

Walking downstairs, still on the search for my supplies, I walked into the living room, then past the kitchen. Still, finding nothing.

Somehow, I had ended up in front of a cracked wooden door that I had never seen before in my time at my aunts house.

I opened the door briskly, not a second thought passing through my head. Why? Because I knew the curiosity would eat me inside out anyways, so I might as well have not gone to the extent, knowing I would open it eventually.

The room was dark, and smelled of freshly cut wood and dust despite the multiple spider webs hanging off of the corner. I reached over to the side of the room, not yet entering, but trying to find a light switch. After what seemed like a few couple minutes of me just freakishly running my hand up and down the wall, I came across something that felt like plastic.

Reaching over to it, I somehow had flicked on a light. The light turned on rather lazily, at first it dimmed out then made its return in a bright yellow glow.

The room was not a room as I presumed it to be, instead, there were wooden stairs leading down to what seemed to be the basement.

Placing my foot to the first step, I checked if the stairs were somewhat stable because I didn't know how long the basement has been here, and whether it was still safe, so,  better safe than sorry.

At first, the wood under my foot let out a small creek before I completely placed my weight on the second step. I then held on to the wooden railing on the side, careful not to get any splinters.

Once I got to the bottom of the staircase, I could see dozens of cardboard boxes filling the small space.

At this point I was absolutely positive my supplies were not here, but I still had the nagging feeling of looking around.

The first box I opened, let out a giant cloud of dust. I cried out a fit of coughs, waving my hand in front of me in attempt to somewhat clear the monstrous amount of small particles.

When my lungs finally calmed down, and I managed to catch my breath, I noticed there was stacks of letters in the box.

Being curious was one thing, but snooping was another. I told myself in that moment that I should just leave and keep looking for my supplies but one letter in particular caught my attention.

It had a picture of a vase of lilies with a blurred blue background. Inside, there was the neatly cursive letters that read:

Dear Marie-Anne,
I'd like to send my deepest regrets and sympathy for your l 

That was all that was written. I could only imagine my aunt sitting at the kitchen table, her small reading glasses on the bridge of her nose, a deep frown etched on her face, as she wrote the letter.

When suddenly, either regret or a distraction caused her to loose her train of thought and never return to the writing card, and instead discarding it into this cardboard box.

Marie-Ann I remember, was Harry's mom who passed away. So, what could've possibly happened that my aunt never finished the letter?

Knowing it was none of my business, I quickly placed the letter where it was before closing the box and walking back upstairs.

In utter confusion with millions of questions going through me head, I had completely forgotten on what I was originally looking for and ran up to the bathroom.

I washed my hands because I probably had touched a lot of dust. As I finished, I went back into my room, and changed my clothes.

It was already 9 am, and I was ready to tell Harry what was itching me since the moment I woke up at 5 this morning.

I knew I couldn't keep showing up at his house so early in the morning, but I couldn't seem to want to wait any longer, instead I tried distracting myself with something else.

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weird ending ik 

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