It's midnight. My beloved Sarah and I stand in awe, staring at our old abandoned home. We are mesmerized by the terror and pain its memory provokes. She sheds a single tear, and then she settles herself and enters the home. Our home. Or at least that's what it used to be.
I follow her as she slowly makes her way up the stairs to the front door. She walks with such certainty that she can handle what she's about to witness. She walks with certainty, one that she won't have for long. She's a brave woman for doing this, but she won't see it through.
She tears down the caution tape that guards our venture into Hell. Her beautiful black hair dances in the breeze as she flings open the door. Her hair dances, just like she used to dance. It's a poetic justice of sorts, but I don't know what for. I shed a single tear, and then I follow her.
She doesn't look back at me, only forward. She only looks forward as she presses forward into the house. The house is in shams. They have yet to clean it up. She guides me ominously up the stairs. The railing is adorned with the sensation of blood, long since dried. And that's what it is, blood long forgotten. It's not my blood, not my families. It's hers, rich with the Andrews spirit that once inhabited it.
She reaches the top of the stairs and stops abruptly. She stops so sharp that I nearly run into her. I don't need to ask for why she stopped. I know. See, blood isn't the only thing that unwantingly decorates this house. Chalk also stays here. It takes on a haunting nature of its own. The chalk outline of her brother’s and sister’s bodies makes it hard for her to stay. She was strong for a while. But like all strong structures, she eventually came toppling down.
In a storm of tears my beautiful and graceful Amazon came falling from her place in the heavens. I don't blame her. I knew she'd join me sometime. I just wish that there was something that I could do. But there wasn't. There was nothing that could say. There was nothing that I could do that could take her hurt away. Her sadness overwhelmed me. I felt terrible. I wished there was something that I could do. So I did the best thing that I could afford. I held her close in my arms and let her cry. I let her scream. I let her yell. I let her curse. I let her punch and I let her kick. I let her get it out. All the pain, all the hurt, all the tears. I let her get them out.
With a gentle kiss on the lips, she regained her composure. I never would know what was going through her head in those weak moments. I don't think I ever want to know. She regains her composure and continues on with what she came here to do.
She stood to her feet, and then marched out the house. She marched out to the driveway where she had six gas cans waiting for her. I sat back as she marched bravely up the stairs once again and begins to unload her cargo. In a fit of gasoline and tears, she began to wash away her fears and angers. She doused out the fires of her past by starting the new fire of our present.
I didn't help her. I didn't need to. This was her battle. It was her cause and I didn't need to slow her down.
After awhile the intoxicating stench of gas had all but crippled me. But she didn't stop until every inch was soaked. She worked the rest in silence. No more tears, no more curses, only the splashing sound of gasoline.
She finished and led me silently outside. She made a trail of gas that followed us to the driveway. I watched her delicate curves as she tossed away the last can. There was a fire in her, and I wanted to taste it. I wanted to breathe in the smoke that she breathes. I wanted the fires of her passions to consume me. I wanted her for my own. In one swift motion she yanked my mouth into hers in a fevered kiss. Our passion was sure to burn us both.
She slowly broke away. I wished it would never end. But it did. I knew what she had to do. I reached into my pocket and took out my lighter. She took it from my hands without word. With a flick of the thumb the lighter was lit. With a slip of the fingers the house was lit.
She looked to me. Tears filled her red eyes. The glow of the house reflected the fire in her stare. We embraced once again in the passion and the love of what we just did. For home is where the heart is....even if it's burning.
Created: Jul 09, 2010chasewilk Document Media