Sophie
By Amethyst Turner
Remember me, Sophie
When you're lost and alone
When you're stumbling, blind
And without a home
Remember me, Sophie
And know you still own
A small piece of me
Wherever you roam
XXX
Sophia watched the house, feeling it watch her back.
It had eyes, it seemed. Glinting, glass-paned eyes with dark black pits for pupils. They stared, reaching through her gaze, trying to touch her soul. Shuddering, Sophie stepped off the curb and began to walk toward the house.
The neighborhood was in shambles. She hadn't seen another soul since she'd stepped out of the old man's car two streets ago. Every house had been overtaken by ivy and mildew, shingles hanging and roofs broken. The more she thought about it, the less she liked it. Why would Leafy be here in this broken cul-de-sac?
She wasn't sure if anyone inhabited the little circle of houses. All doors remained firmly shut, windows too clouded by mold and smudges to be seen through. Number 117 was no exception.
The silence consumed her footsteps. They seemed to disappear into the ground, leaving her wondering if she had moved at all. Oh, god, she didn't like this one bit.
But a little creature called Curiosity gnawed away at her stomach lining, threatening to eat her away from the inside if she did not feed him. And Leafy had the food. He would save her from this thing, even if he did live in a creepy neighborhood that smelled all too familiar (drugs and rotting bodies).
Not a squirrel, not a bird, not a stray cat. Just Sophie and the promise of knowledge.
She stepped onto the front porch, jumping from the last step just before it collapsed under her feet. She gave the roof of the house a weary glance. Hopefully, everything else was holding together.
She took a deep breath. Do it, Curiosity prompted. Go, do it.
She knocked.
Silence. Then the sound of echoing footsteps across a wide wooden floor. The door creaked open.
"Why, my dear child. It is good to see you, darling."
XXX
Richard had just come home when he was startled by a knock on the door.
Libby was in the kitchen, making dinner. He glanced in the room, but she didn't move. Fine, he thought. I'll get it.
His feet ached like hell. Didn't she know that? All he wanted to do was sink into the couch with a bottle of beer and the Monday night game. Only, they didn't have a TV, did they? He sighed. One of these days.
He threw the door open, prepared to snarl, "What?" He froze when he saw the uniform. Oh, god, not the police. What did he do? Pretend? Run?
"Good evening, Mr. Turner," said the blue-clad man. "May I come inside?"
YOU ARE READING
The Catharsis
General FictionIt gets better. Isn't that what they say? Amethyst Turner isn't so sure. She waits and waits, but things only get worse. She sees happy families on TV, with a father and mother that love each other and their kids. They have a dog, and a nice house...
