Regret. - Uitkomsten

Regret. (26 x uitgekomen)

You exhaled. The usual white steam appeared as it does in the winter; you had been longing to let that final breath leave your midriff. The cold wall you rested your back against began to penetrate your thin coat and send cold through your body until it was unbearable. You stood up. No one was around. You stood there, waiting outside; waiting for anything to happen to corrupt the routine of everyday life. Again the white steam abandoned your being as you slipped away into your own empty thoughts.
Twenty minutes passed. Every appendage on your person grew numb with the cold; you had to fight to continue circulation. The uncovered land had the appearance of frozen bareness and stimulated nothing. Finally, a plain car drove up to the side of the road and you climbed in the back, thankful to escape the wilderness.
The ride was quiet. The driver said no word. You stared out the window and focused on the little things protruding through life outside the car. You hoped it would snow because, after all, the snow would cover the ugliness of the land.
It didn't snow.
You arrived at your home after another twenty minutes. The driver stepped out of the car and entered. The uninspiring exterior did nothing to lift your spirits up. Anxiously, you trudged towards the inhospitable house awaiting your return. The hall was furnished sparingly and the lights were off; candles provided the gentle glow leading through the distance. You put your bag down near the staircase. Spinning and twirling down the way you noticed nothing, excluding your spot. Dancing warmed your body. It was the only thing you had.
You made your way back to your aged bag and dragged it up to your room. Even the room, which should reflect your personality, remained unchanged from the moment you moved in. There were no posters, no pictures, no sign that a particular person lived there.
You tossed the bag on your bed, along with your coat and looked out the window. The evergreens shined festively in the back, but the others stood tall and empty. Wheeling your attention back to your room. You noticed something on your vanity. After examining it carelessly, the object was clearly known but the reason it was there remained a mystery. The object was an antique key, cold to the touch, but it had no reason to be in the room. You put it in your pocket.
You looked in the mirror positioned in front of you. Your pale skin seemed to glow under the long dark locks descending from your head. Your gray eyes seemed cloudy, and all the joy was missing from your cheeks. Not being able to look any longer you pushed yourself back and out of the room.
You walked down the hall and noticed a strange addition. A door now appeared in the middle of the corridor. You walked around it, amazed that something so completely out of place could materialize there. There was nothing behind it, nothing in front of it. The door stood alone in the empty space. As you examined the relentlessly intriguing contraption you noticed a lock- the lock that the key in your pocket was made for. Carefully and eagerly you pulled the ancient piece of brass from your pants' pocket. The handle was no longer cold. Intrigued by the nature of the lock, you forced the key inside and turned it. A clicking noise ensued from the frame. You rotated the carved handle and pushed the door forward. It would have been safe to assume that the door would open and nothing exceptional would be on the other side, but your safe presumption lacked any depth. Instead, the opened door revealed an old set of stairs leading up. Skeptical yet enthralled, you began the assent. Every other step creaked under your weight as you made your way up to the final destination: an attic.
A few boxes lined the floor and a few windows allowed the final rays of daylight to linger for a while. Unsuspecting of any danger you crossed to the boxes and read the labels.
Each box had 'fragile' clearly marked across the top along with your name. You were fascinated. You took one box gently and read 'Abigail' carefully before opening it. The box was filled with memories, not only little trinkets from your childhood but also current memories. It was as if someone had recorded everything that had ever happened in your lifetime and saved them in the boxes. You pushed the box aside to check the others. Each box contained a different set of memories, from different years. You began to read the things you had forgotten, the moments that made you laugh, the ones that made you cry. Everything you had ever done came back to you. It was the most spectacular occurrence.
The light slowly faded away. You closed the boxes and put them back where they had been. You creaked back down the aging steps and closed the great door behind you. After locking the door carefully, you placed the key securely in your pocket once again and returned to your room. It no longer seemed dull and listless. It was decorated with the new, energetic spirit inside you. You grabbed your coat off the bed, where it had been thrown earlier, and ran out of your home, the original splendor of the architecture hitting you like a tone of bricks.
The street lamps were lit and the sun had slowly disappeared beyond the horizon. Your breath turned to steam as you ran away, the pavement falling behind your feet. You knew what you had to do; life, in all its spectacular wonder, was calling you.