A post for two consecutive weeks! I can’t believe it.
This one’s a little different – I was trying a bit of a different style. Let me know what you think!
The hill our house was poised upon was steep, and curved inwards on one side, creating a shallow, sheltered cave halfway up. The hill, like everything around the house, was ours, and my parents had spent their lives doing all they could to keep me – and their tenants – out of that little cave, though for what reason, I couldn’t tell. I had spent my childhood assuming they were worried that I might fall from the mouth, or become injured where they couldn’t reach me, but I had climbed up to it often, and had come to no harm. My family was peaceful, and I had nothing to escape from, but the thought of a secret place all to myself was irresistible as a child.
When I was fourteen, of course, this peace was to end, when illness fell upon our house, leaving us all bedridden. I would soon recover, but my parents’ condition only worsened; it was not long after I received the news that they were not long for the world that I, seeking solace in my seclusion, went once again to the cave in the hill.
It took barely a moment, having pulled myself onto that ledge, to know that something was wrong. The air, usually light and pleasantly cool, felt stuffy and uncomfortably tight, as if not only the air but the space around me was being sucked into the blackness further in. The strange thing was, the cave didn’t go any further in; but this time the dead end of the cave wall, usually damp and glittering in the light at this time of day, was obscured by a darkness that made the cave seem deeper, an impossible tunnel to someplace I had a feeling I would rather not go. With every hesitant step forward I watched the cave walls at my sides swallow up the sunlight from my vision, but as my eyes adjusted, I realised that I was not alone.
Continue reading “The Joy of Giving”