write about what's under your house.

4/17/2008

My house? Ha! If you can even call it a house. My little ramshackle disaster, you must mean. My ruined life, manifested. Crooked. Falling apart. Deserted.

It's just me here, you know. I have nothing left. They say everyone goes away in the end. Well, I guess they're right. But the end came so soon for me! But still. They're all gone anyway. All gone. So now I'm alone. In this lonely little falling apart house. The perfect place for its lonely little falling apart owner. Everything is so disorganized. I'm afraid I can't invite you in. Such a mess. I never know where anything is anymore. Right when I need something, and I can never find it! I think I put it somewhere, and it turns out that just what I need has disappeared. Again. Life sure is a funny thing.

What? What's that? You asked me a question? Ah, I see. I guess I'm a little disorganized, too. A little confused. Confusing. Hey! What are you doing? Stop that. Stop it right now. I said it was a mess! No, you can't even peek through the windows. Good thing I haven't washed them in years! You'd never be able to see in there. Besides, like I said: it's a MESS. I don't want you snooping around. Who knows what you'll find in there? Better leave it alone.

How did you come to be all the way out here anyway? You lost? Oh, I see. No, I don't remember you, I'm sorry.

So what was it you wanted to know? What's under my house? Ah. Yes. That.

Under my house... Well, I suppose there are the usual things. Things like broken bottles and rusty cans. Nails. Sharp things. Things to stay away from. Small animal bones. Rotting, dead things, maybe. No, what do you think I am, crazy? I'm no killer. I meant mice, or rats. Insects. Leaves. Just decay. Me, a killer. That's a good one. I don't have it in me, so don't worry. I might be a little strange, but I'm no killer.

Yeah, decay. Might be some unusual stuff under there, too. Maybe I placed the things I lost under the house. Maybe they went there, to comfort the dying. My dying dreams. Lost and forgotten glass bubble hopes. Dusty memories, long faded. Things I don't deserve to have. Things I don't want anymore. They can't give me any comfort anymore. Life is cruel. What's the point? Ghosts of my lovers. Those must be under there. They haunt me, at night. Ha. That's my little joke, there. Or maybe not. Nights are bad, here. Out here alone. I must have buried my love under this house. No more left to give, had to hide the rest away. I probably won't be needing it anyway. Not like it matters anymore to me, right? All alone. Nothing left. Not even dreams or hopes or aspirations. Nothing but me. Now and forever. That's it.

You'd better be going now. My sociable nature is all worn out. Don't come back.