Your Soul is Opaque

Changes are hard.

They make you re-analyze yourself. They can make or break you.

To be straight and to the point- Changes suck. Its like being pulled out of the luxury of the portable toilet (a.k.a. diapers) and being forced into the enclosure of a bathroom. With all the complications of unbuttoning your pants and washing the hands, something we can all relate to, am I right?

As stated before, changes just plain out suck. Currently I am undergoing one of the most dramatic changes of all –

moving

And not the average 'other side of town' kind of move, no my parents couldn’t settle for that. We moved across the country! From California to Maine, of all places, too. My parents needed to 'settle down'. They didnt have time to wait for me to grow up. Sometimes they forget I'm not a tenant in their house, but their teenage daughter.

Self sufficiency only gets you so far when you need a roof over your head, huh? So Bon Voyage my wondrous state, Bon Jour Maine.

But, being the mature individual I am- I'm sulking in the backseat, wedged like a piece of pie between the carrying cages of my cat and two parakeets. lovely.

I'm not sure if my situation surpasses in paranoia more or less than my frightened pets. At least I know what is happening. For all they know we're on our way to the vet, as they have loudly voiced these worries in constant mewing and agitated twittering. Poor things.

My father looked back at me through the rearview mirror. The glint of his glasses reflected onto my face. I scowled, shifting so my chocolate colored veil of hair covered my sour face.

"I'm sorry honey, I really am." He apologized for about the fiftieth time. If he was so sorry we wouldn't be moving, now wouldn't we?

I responded by wrinkling my nose and turning my head to peer grudgingly our my hanger covered window. For sure he's sorry, what a joke. I'm not laughing!

Through the metal rods I could see lush trees, with the occasional break revealing. . . more trees. It was pretty. . . just repetitive after a couple of hours.

Luckily, he sensed I wanted to be left alone and returned to driving. My mother was asleep, her breathe condensing against the window, making her silvery gray strands stick in odd patterns to the glass.

My parents are kind of getting on in the years. Nearing their mid sixties, they had given up on children when suddenly I popped up. I think it was better for me. They're more worldly and patient, than if they were twenty years younger. They're not sickly or anything just older. They're self sufficient, and I have to give them props for raising a sixteen year old. It can be tiring. . . or so I've been told. Personally I think I'm easy, I can cook, I shower on my own account, and I don’t drool! I must pat myself on the back for that one, cause let me tell you its tempting at times.

I cant tell you in between which oak or holly tree I drifted to sleep at. I awoke a while later. I could feel a crick in my back from the odd position I had slept in. I rubbed my eyes, feeling the indent on my cheek from the bird cages I had inconveniently used as I pillow. The light hurt, I groggily closed my eyes once more as the engine died. What perfect timing I have. The car shook as a door opened and slammed. I blinked rapidly to the hazy light, all I could see form my obscured vision through a bird cage, was bright light.

Clumsily I crawled through he clutter car to a door, earning myself at least twenty bruises. Who ever knew a stopped car, and two caged birds could cause so much harm?

My parents always had to live in their fantasy melodramatic world. They now stood, hands clasped around each other, staring at the sunset. Their like a corny romance novel every second. I rolled my eyes, scanning the area. The view was really pretty. As we rapidly approached sunset, the red and blue hues contradicted nicely, creating an unreal glow to the large meadow, enclosed by trees and a road, on the edge teetered a red, farmy looking house. Kind of old looking, maybe thirty or forty years.

I begrudgingly looked away from the awe-inspiring sight, turning back to my caged loves.

"Ooh, my poor baby!" I cooed to my ginger cat, I named her Blue when I was five. . . you can tell I watched too much t.v.

My fingers tiredly struggled at the metal clasp, once unlocking her I tenderly un-squished her, into my arms. She purred appreciatively, as I cuddled her trying to convey an apology, I admit I do talk to my pets. I am not ashamed, they're my babies.

My parents finally came back from their mushy- moment. And we walked into the spacious house, bringing things we needed.

The inside was bare with wooden floors. I took note of that- note to self, buy slippers. preferably Mickey mouse ones

After much commotion and scurrying around, I had locked myself securely into a room I dubbed my own. The whole house was a little rickety. The stairs creaked, there was dust in places dust shouldn’t be, and I didn’t even want to know what was locked away in the attic. I had enough trouble mustering the courage to open to half intact knob to my room. Dark, dusty places make me uncomfortable.

Comfort Meter- 3

And that’s only that high because I have my think quilt to wrap up in.

As it got later, and later, I got more exhausted, who knew sitting in a car for five days would be such tiring. . . butt work. Travel is not my thing. My make shift bed looked so inviting, I got ready for bed and flicked off the lights.

Upon settling under my quilt, I suddenly was tired no more. . . great. I focused lazily on a rather large crack in the ceiling. Moonlight filtered through an unseen window in the attic. My own window was facing the wrong way to provide any light.

My senses heightened in the dark, as I heard every shift my parents made next door. Every gust of wind spread my eyes wider. I cursed the trees for creating shadows in the windows, they moved weakly distracting my mind more.

I decidedly do not like this house. Its driving my insane. It's so noisy. The house creaked and groaned all around me. The wind whispering remarks to the paneling.

My paranoid mind and my wild imagination got the best of me. Another shadow passed through the gaping crack, I jumped, looking all around me. I felt prickles crawl up my back. I shuddered shaking them off. There's nothing there.

I closed my eyes tightly against the shadows and invisible bugs. Now my imagination attacked my ears. The wind wasn’t a whisper anymore it was a howl. I thought I actually heard it speak.

There is nothing there. There is nothing there. There is nothing there.

I slowly opened my eyes expecting a six horned monster to be there.

Nothing.

I still heard the whispering. Its wasn’t words, just the wind.

My heart remained jumpy, the butterflies flew from my stomach to my throat. The wind rose above me.

There is nothing there.

I want to go home. I don't like this place.

There is nothing there.

Whimsical wishes of my old house flooded my mind. Where there was not creaking or dust.

There is nothing there.

I somewhat relaxed, dully focusing on the crack again. The main shadows passed through that point. I should put some plaster in it.

I hate this place. I hate this place. I hate this place.

More whispering. More shadows.

I jammed my lids shut, wrapping my arms securely around myself. Where is Blue when I need her? I am getting entirely worked up. My mind kept going back to every horror movie I had ever seen. Almost every one involved a rickety house. I am in a target area for Freddy Kruger!

There is nothing there.

I'm freaking out over nothing.

I opened my eyes to prove it to myself. Looking around once more, to the vacant circumference of my room, then back to the crack.

There an eye stared back at me.

I jumped, letting out a squeak of a screech.

There is something up there!