The silo was always there in the back of my mind. Its priority happened to be pushed there. A whole year passed before I was back outside behind that same barn, caught in the mystery of what's inside. I was eight then, craving with all my little heart, answers to every question in the world. At that moment, it was beating for the silo.
I was closer to it this time. My hands rested on the edge of the broken latched window. My vision wouldn't adjust to the darkness inside. A musty, chilling feeling radiated from the silo. Goosebumps lingered on my arms and legs.
But I couldn't leave. I couldn't turn away. It was a certain fear that built onto my wonder and sense of wanting.
I traced the outline of the open window. If only I was a little taller, I could climb inside. My little legs couldn't get me that far.
I huffed a heavy breath, backing up. My eye brows furrowed in frustration. I just wanted to go inside.
My fingers clung to a small rock that was on the ground, then tossed it into the window. The sound of the rock hitting cement echoed in the silo, creating an eerie tune that lasted longer than expected. The legs that carried me began to step back until they bumped into an old car that rested back behind the barns, along with a few others.
This silo won't be seeing the last of me yet. It'll call me back.
