The Passageway

Ch. II

Still.

Everything silent and still. I don't know which is worse.

He was still here. I could hear his daunting breaths looming over me. As my heart calmed down and his breathing died away, my fists began to unclench from my knees. I don't know how long but I just remained, on the ground, holding my knees to my chest.

Upon further surveillance of the room, still no light was present. Holding out my hands, I look down to nothing where my hands should've been. I need to find a way out.

My hands began searching the floor, stumbling upon a well worn down candle, judging from its jagged edges and minimal wik. Now if only I had matches. Gingerly leaning on my right hip, I bit my lip and shoved my hands in my back pockets. On the left side, my fingers wrapped around a small pack of; what where they? The rough edge towards the bottom gave the inclination to be a pack of matches.

Why would I have matches though?

The Christmas lamp being lit earlier that day. The jewel of the store. Elegant, tall, and magnificent it stood. A luminous bronze with the shine of warm copper, engraved with endless swirls, curls, and bold streaks, all defined and perfectly etched, arousing admiration from all who passed.

My parents loved Christmas. The toy store I've worked before I could walk. Their pride and joy. Decorating the store inside and out, displaying the closest holiday or season.

Digitalized snow fell throughout the store by way of holograms.The realistic qualities were astounding at the sparkling and flawless descent reflects in the awe of every child that walks in.

So much happiness and complete wonder.

My parents are and always have been the most upbeat and optimistic people anyone will ever meet, never anything from a smile found across their faces save the one night. A cold icy stare that chilled me to the bone as I had asked why we kept the piece of junk.

My complaints were feuled by nothing more than laziness and stubborness against having to light it daily; every day, every month, every year. I have always admired the majestic antique and would never dismiss it in hatred or despise. I was just being a normal, headstrong procrastinator firmly against any hint of work required of me. It quickly passed.

Not only did I walk away without an explanation or answer, but also with an eery stillness, haunting, by none can compare.

Wait.

No.

It was exactly like the empty sense I have held from my sisters soulless eyes, from their invading whispers, from his decieving touch. They all are the same.

But how?

A sigh of frustration, a release of confusion.

So much.

A jumbled mess, incomprehensible and utterly hopeless, the frightening abyss of my mind. Too many questions, too many mysteries, too many lies. So burdening, so demanding, dragging me down to the very edge of my breaking point, tasting the sharpness of the cliff I continue to teeter on.