Recollections.

The house I walk through
isn't much of a house.
The windows are smashed,
leaving millions of glass crystals gleaming;
winking at me as i walk by.
The furniture that's left is old and moth bitten.
the colors faded to mere white.
The dust gathers.
The TV is gone,
stolen most likely,
and all that remains is a white square where the tv sat on the ground.
I walk up the stairs.
They groan in portest
not having to bear weight for how many untold years.
The last door is closed.
posters of childhood memories pasted all over.
I grasp the doorknob
and gently push.
Inside I find a bed, a dresser, a closet, a window.
This window seems to have been spared in the breaking.
It stands with dust gathered and spider webs in the cracks.
a lone warrior, standing after a major battle
proud and defiant.
Everything is covered in dust.
Nothing has been spared the plague.
I see old pictures of old times,
everything's so familiar.
It's not until I see a book collection
that I realize
that this is my room.
My childhood. My dusty room.
Slowly things come back to me.
My eyes grow wide with recognition.
I run from the room
past all the closed doors
not caring what they hold.
As I run down the stairs one gives way
and I sink for a brief moment,
but recover quickly.
I scramble past everything til I'm at the door.
I break through it and don't stop running.
Inside me I hear screaming.
I'm blind to the outside world
as I struggle with my emotions.
I feel a sharp pain,
hear a horn,
hear a shout,
and I find myself on the ground.
Blood flows from everywhere.
I don't scream.
I don't cry.
I don't feel anything.
Time goes by.