The House on the Hill

The Hill Lets Go Sometimes

I like to tell stories. I tell them inside my head. I tell them after my parents say, we have to talk. We have to talk they said.

I make a story for my life, for each step my small shoe takes. I say, "And so she crawled up the wretched hill, her tired small shoes bringing her to the house she never liked."

I like to tell stories. I am going to tell you a story of a girl who didn't want to belong.

We have always lived in the same house on the same steep hill. In the house that looks down on others. Nothing has changed since I was born. Except I have change. This house on this hill has changed me.

I put it down on paper and then I do not feel so alone. I write it down and the hill let's go sometimes. He does not pull me back with strong arms. He sets me free.

One day I will pack my bags of idea and memories. One day I will say goodbye to the hill. I am too strong for him to hold me here forever. One day I will go away.

Friends and neighbors will say, What happened to that Brianna? Where did she go with all those ideas and memories? Why did she run so far away?

They will not know I have ran away to run back. For the ones I left behind. For the ones who are stuck.