Every time I close my eyes, I see it .Hungry ,ravenous flames dancing in the breeze rapidly gaining life ,morphing into a bright orange embers ,igniting the piles of antiquity -the books ,the vase ,the paintings.The highly decorative paintings ,the chiefly lacquer and ceramics crackling rupturing into pieces.Sparks flew across the room and the horror, terror and sheer heat hit me full in the face. I felt the scalding heat of the fire as it burned my whole life into ashes .As the flames grew bigger , the vigor in me gradually diminish into a black soot .It sears my skin and the smell of charred meat shoots up into my nose.I feel numb .
Jack my brother has insisted with all his might for me to move in and live with him after “that” happened .My brother is a physician. He has no tolerance with faith and religion whatsoever. He scoffs publicly at anything not to be felt or seen. After the fire engulfed everything i own into ashes and dirt, Jack assured me that I am not sick.
Personally, I disagree with his ideas, I believe being back at home would do me better than being here. What can I do? He is my older brother, it is not my place to defy him and I know he means well. He is the only one I have left.
Jack recently moved into his new home but you simply can not call it new when it has been here for decades. It was one of those old Victorian homes .It was very old. It smelled of damped soak walls and weathered paint peeling off in spaces. It smelled of bleach and of laundry and of burning wood and of mold but none of that bothered me, something else did, there is something unusual about this house-I can feel it in me.
My room is on the second floor past the red ceramic vase at the foyer up the stairs at the end of the hall. I don’t like my room one bit .It is big and airy with ceiling lined with massive wood beams and oak panels musty and damp from the years. It is one of those rooms in the house with windows that look all ways, and air and sunshine bountiful, always brightly lid in the rays of sunlight but when the sun sets, the cold air sweeps under the heavy wooden door like the tide on an inhospitable beach we used to visit when we were children. The paint look as if it has been used for years, stripped off and stained all around ,in places i can't reach .These dreadful brown tiles ,one of those flamboyant patterns that coils around itself ,committing each and every artistic sin known . Lifeless and insipid enough to confuse but striking and distinct enough to study. What is worse is that sickening color : a smoky, sooty, mucky brown .It is dull yet lurid in spots, a stomach churning copper brown.The color itself churned my stomach.Vomit crawled up my throat.I hate it.
I have been here several weeks and I haven’t felt any better .Jack is gone most of the days working and Maggie wanders off with the baby for hours and sometimes the whole day. It is blessed that Maggie is so good with the baby.I get all jumpy when i see a baby ,I...