The Transition to the House on Lewis Road

My mom always told me that one day we were going to move away from Seven Gables. To a place where trees and grass no longer grew from alcohol spills, wasted drugs scattered like the shooting stars in the midnight sky, and their nectar for eternal growth would no longer hold the memories of the blood and lives spilled over the meaningless controversy. Where children no longer play bullet tag, instead play on top of the bungalow trees.

The room where I slept felt just like the titanic when my mom’s warmth wasn’t there to keep me at an average temperature for human beings. Artic cold. The crevices of the walls were similar to that of my great grandma’s face; deep and full of mystery. My mom was always protecting us from the wolves that tried to capture us, with their fingernails sharper than shark’s teeth, hair darker than my sable face. One day after school I come home to my parents sirens going off.

Why do want to leave? My grandmother fiercely asked with her penetrating dragon eyes. To get out of this hell whole and live on my own, mother replied.

Coming home to mid-evil torture like my limbs are intertwined into ropes held by four mighty horses waiting for the command to run off into four directions. One points east, to the waters from which all nature came from; another points west so I can meet my ancestors; the other points south so I can be reunited with my disclaimer of a family down in Mexico; and the last points north to the roads of which I hope one day to ascend.
The new house is ok, I no longer have friends to enjoy like I use to. There are no more cracks in the walls in which the liquids of broken mechanics tools that they claim to fix can be seen. I am an avatar and this is my Pandora, and I now have the company of a little sister.





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