For starters, I hate saying that, “ex” best friend. Our friendship was always just worth more than that, and I know you know that too. I hope you realize nobody will ever take your spot, nobody will ever lead up to you. Our friendship was too special for someone to be able to take your title. Plus, nobody will ever be you.
Next, I often think of the “what ifs” and “could’ve beens”, but in all honesty maybe this is where we are supposed to be. Maybe we will find our way back to each other one day, maybe not. However, I will always be here for you, disregarding all the circumstances. Even if you do not ever want to be my friend again, I will always be a friend to you. And I am terribly sorry for how we ended our friendship.
Furthermore, thank you for being such a wonderful person. You were my person, and you came into my life when I needed someone. I will forever be thankful for you. Even if we never cross paths again, our past contains memories I will cherish forever. It was just you and I against the world for awhile, and that’s all we needed at the time, but high school indeed changed everything.
In my opinion, we needed to find ourselves. I admit I lost myself for awhile, and I am terribly sorry that it changed me into someone I was not. I will forever regret that, but just know you will always be my person. Even if I am closer to other people now, you will forever have the spot of being my actual best friend.
The worst part of it all is we can walk past each other now and act as if we were never in each others life. I miss you terribly sometimes. Especially in the summertime, it is like every memory painfully fulfills my mind. I go through old pictures and I wonder how everything just changed so fast, I wish I could have stopped that.
Also, I hope someone walks into your life one day and is an actual great friend to you. You deserve that and please do not settle for anything less, you deserve to be treated like a person, not as if you do not exist. I also hope all your dreams come true and everything in your life turns out good.
Buddy, do you remember how we would always say “do not jump oceans for people who would not jump puddles for you” ? I know you do, so keep that in mind always on your path throughout life. You can overcome all the obstacles life throws at you, and I admire your strength. And I wish you the best for all the next stages in your life.
Lastly, although we are not close anymore, i still want to thank you for all you did for me. Thank you for being my person, wiping my tears, venting with me, going on walks, looking at stars, and laughing together. There is nobody else I would want to have such great memories with. I am so sorry for everything. Also, I hope you still get that apartment we planned on getting in California.
sometimes i’m fine and then i remember this picture exists and my mind & soul instantly blows up like that one episode of spongebob where all the spongebobs are running around like headless chickens while everything is on fire
Trust me, I know you are sad you didn’t get invited. Coming from someone who’s stomach drops when I realize I may never meet Taylor, I KNOW! And let me also start by saying that it’s okay to be sad, it’s okay to even be jealous, and if you feel a little bitterness creeping in..that’s okay too. Cause are we happy for those who have got to meet her? Of course we are!!! And if we do ever get to meet her we will have millions of others feeling exactly like we do now. And that’s OKAY! Just remember, as I have to remind myself, Taylor is just one person, and although she has Taylor Nation to help her, she is having to hand pick these people. Which means she has to let down millions. That’s a hard task. Taylor would probably spend 48 hours in the pouring rain, the freezing cold, or the schorching heat even, if it meant being able to meet every last one of us. But the truth is she’s only doing the best she can!! I know we know this, but we need to be reminded. Sometimes we think that we aren’t good enough, or funny enough, or popular enough. But that’s not at all the case. Taylor has picked people who have a 100 followers and people who have 100k followers. So remember Taylor loves every single one of us, and though she may not know you by name, and though you may not ever meet her. I can say truthfully that I’m thankful to atleast live in a generation where The Taylor Swift exists. It’s an honor and a privilege, and when I show my kids the pictures I’ll tell them her name❤️
If You’re Going Through Hell - Stiles Stilinski Imagine
Summary: You wake up in a train station not knowing exactly how you got there. Everyone seems to be acting like zombies, all but one boy. Someone who seems to keep smiling through it all.
Pairings: Stiles Stilinski x Reader
Warnings: Language. Kissing.
Word Count: 4,750
Damp. It was such an uncomfortable word for you, but even a
more uncomfortable feeling. Soon you realized it was your own sweat, and you
wondered how much of a restless night you had actually had. You blinked your
eyes open, but what you saw before you was not the cool toned bedroom you were
so use to. You saw rust and ugly greens, dark places mixed with blinking
lights, but there was no one. Not a single person in sight. You shot up from
the bench that you were starting to feel the pain from sleeping on. Eyes
frantic but head not moving, there was a pang in your neck and as much as you
wanted to speak or call out, you couldn’t find your voice. Like it had been
taken from you. Licking your dry lips, you picked up on a faint noise behind
you, it was soft breathing, but for some reason you found it quite calming.
Turning slowly you took notice of a brown headed boy who had his back to you,
it sounded like he was sleeping, making part of you not wanting to wake him up.
“Excuse me.” You whispered, realizing how weak your voice was. You were
starting to wonder how long you had been down here, to wonder if anyone had
been looking for you. “Excuse me.” Your voice was louder, causing a halt in the
soft breathing, head lifting to turn and look at you. You shouldn’t have been
so awestruck by the way his soft eyes connected with yours, or how the corner
of his lips twitched up in a slight smile, but you found yourself melting in
your seat, cursing that there was no mirror around you.
“You’re new.” His voice was not what you expected. It was
soft and yet there was a rasp behind it, it kept you clinging to him every
word. “New?” You asked, eyebrows knitted together in confusion. At the
beginning you were wondering how long you had been here, but now, you were
curious about how long he had been there, curious as to how many more people
had been in here and more importantly what had happened to them. He hummed,
nodding in silence as he re-positioned his body, his left leg on the bench so he
could face you a little better. “Every week or so, there is a new person. They
come in sane, talkative and sometimes even fun. Last week, Becca came in. She
was a riot for a while, probably the longest there has been, five days maybe?
But sooner or later, everyone falls into routine.” There was this hint of
sadness in his voice that you just couldn’t shake. There were so many pieces to
this puzzle and yet you couldn’t put them all together. “What routine?” You
questioned, his eyes raising as if you should know the answer already. “You’ll
see, come over here.” He sat back upright, patting the empty spot next to him.
You were quick with your movements, eager to be next to him. What happened next
was probably one of the scariest things you have ever witness before in your
life, so much so that you couldn’t stop your hand from reaching and taking the
strangers, holding it tightly as you watched them pile in.
Soulmate AU where Gabe can hear his soulmate's thoughts and visa versa pretty please
~~I got you, Nony!! Don’t worry about it.
Gabriel hearing your thoughts
Your thoughts have always been a gentle murmur in the back of his head. It’s like someone talking directly in his ear in a soft voice. Because of that, he’s never really experienced quiet before because you’re always there.
When he was younger and had more time, he liked to just sit and listen to you. He knows all of your family members by name and how you feel about them. He knows which one of your pets loves to cuddle most. He knows every kid in the school who’s ever hurt your feelings (He’s taking names for later)
He’s never tried reaching out to you before. Establishing the bond was something he decided to do when he was older no matter how much it tempted him as a kid.
When you’re feeling sad sometimes, he sends out warmth and happiness as much as he can. You send back grateful feelings and it makes his heart ache. He’s there for you even if he can’t physically be there.
When he finally does establish the connection, it’s quiet for the first time ever and that silence is almost overwhelming for him. When he first hears your voice talking to him actually talking to him, his heart flutters. He can feel your love and affection already there for him. He’s known you all his life and he can’t wait to get to know you all over again.
You hearing Gabriel’s Thoughts
He thinks in mostly Spanish, adding in a couple of English words when the spanish equivalent of the word doesn’t exist. It’s funny listening to him try to remember words in other languages.
He mostly thinks in choppy sentences that you have to piece together. Most of the time you just wonder why he said something weird like ‘I need to remember the pumpkins’ to himself four times and then later giggle when he forgets them anyway. What could he be doing? You wish you knew.
You’re sometimes surprised when he has a bad dream. Hearing his subconscious panic is like having a bucket of cold water tossed on you. When he’s just dreaming though, it’s in soft pictures and colors. It’s peaceful.
Despite how introverted he is with others, he leaves nothing off limits to you. You hear his most vulnerable moments. He doesn’t tend to think in real feeling but his mind projects them as easily as it does words. You’ll be in the kitchen cooking dinner and feel his loneliness. You’ll be in a math test and feel his crippling depression. You’ll be asleep and awakened by his fear of the unknown. You know him better than you know anyone and you’ve never met him before. Funny how that works out.
You’ve been spending your entire life trying to get him to talk to you but it isn’t until later that he establishes the connection. You get it. Some people aren’t ready. The moment that he is, you’re so excited and you can feel his fondness for your antics on the other side. You’ve heard him speak before but hearing the words directed at you makes you feel 1000 times less lonely. Your soulmate is speaking to you finally and you have a lot of catching up to do.
Summary: Y/N was once an employee at Prince Adams castle along with being his childhood friend but she doesn’t remember. Caught up in the curse, she ends up in Villeneuve where she stands out. But circumstances arrive and she somehow returns to the place she once called home, and a beast she once thought a friend. A multi-chapter fanfiction. MASTERLIST
Author’s Notes: So this is the next chapter. It’s here. We meet more of the staff in this one. Plus many people have had questions about the curse and the readers memory. This chapter hopefully answers some of these questions. As always, tags, questions and requests are OPEN! Hope you enjoy!
Oh and just in case Y/F/N is your father’s name! Exciting times guys.
Chapter 7: A New Home Lumière and Cogsworth had led you through several long passageways before you came through into a decorated hallway. Portraits and mirrors hung on the walls all with golden frames. Ornate marble and wooden tables dressed with vases and other knickknacks stood to the side. You barely had time to take it in when Lumière asks you to open the door to your left. You were still enthralled by all the decorations that you walked past the door and you only stopped walking when Lumière jumped down from your hand. You yelped as you thought you’d dropped him but when you located him walking back down the corridor you felt yourself go red with embarrassment. You walked briskly up to the doors and pushed them open, but whilst the Lumière and Cogsworth walked forwards into the room you stood in the doorway with your mouth slightly agape. You had never seen such a beautiful room. It managed to outshine even the exquisite hallway from when you first discovered the castle. The room was large. That was the first thing you noticed, and the bed alone was easily the same size as half your bedroom back in Villeneuve. The bed in question had satin sheets that shimmered under the crystal chandelier that hung from the painted ceiling. Several cherubs were staring down at you as you slowly walked into the room. Like the rest of the castle you’d seen, there were gold accents everywhere, and there were even spirals of gold simply hanging from the ceiling. There was a mahogany vanity table to the right of the bed with a deep red coloured velvet chair tucked neatly underneath it. On the left hand side you saw several large windows each with their own teal set of curtains, paired with a golden bar. As you walked in further, you saw that next to the door (in a groove in the wall) was a large armoire that was sky blue with gold detailing. A couple of metres away from that in another grove was a petite writing desk, with crisp paper and tiny stool. You continued to turn in a circle trying to take all of it in when you heard Lumière say, “It is modest I know but…” You cut him off. “Modest?! This is the most exquisite thing I have ever seen!” “Then you haven’t seen a lot.” Cogsworth mumbled under his breath and luckily you didn’t hear him. “It’s beautiful.” You sighed as you stared around. “But of course!” Lumière exclaimed. “You are our guest. Nothing but the best.” He dramatically gestures before crashing down, somehow gracefully, on the bed only to be engulfed by a cloud of dust. He spluttered at all of the dust that now was in the air waving his hands in the air to disperse it all. “We were not expecting guests.” He said rather solemnly as he looks at you hoping that it would be an apology. You smiled in response and laughed every time he took a step as with each one a new grey cloud was formed. As if detecting dust, a white feather duster flew past your head at a rather fast speed. It quickly moved from surface to surface dusting each one slightly. “Don’t worry miss, I’ll have this room spotless in no time.” It said in a very distinguishable female voice. It giggled and swooped down from the ceiling onto the bed next to Lumière, the peacock face somehow showing and expression of joy. “This plan of yours is dangerous.” She whispered to him. Lumière wiggled his eyebrows and replied with, “I would risk anything to kiss you again, my dear Plumette.” These romantic comments were exchanged back and forth with the climax of them being, “How can I be strong when you make me so weak.” You were certain that these sweet but sickly gestures would have gone on for longer if Cogsworth didn’t cough extremely loudly to remind the lovers that there were other people in the room. They pull apart from one another, sheepish looks on their faces. Plumette, who you presumed was the name of the feather duster, flew up into the air and began to thoroughly clean everywhere that could physically gather dust. You’d now seen three objects that were seemingly living. You walked over to the dressing table and looked back at Lumière and asked “Is everything here alive?” He didn’t answer as he was still following Plumette with his eyes. With no answer you picked up the hairbrush that sat atop the vanity. “Hello?” You asked, “What’s your name?” You heard a snigger from behind you and turned to see Lumière covering his mouth with his hand and Cogsworth pointing to the brush with a small stick. “That is a hairbrush.” Cogsworth stated clearly; as if it were obvious. You put the hairbrush back down on the vanity table fairly quickly, slightly embarrassed at your quick assumption. Before you could question them on what the rules were to make one object move and one remain stationary, you heard a voice from behind you coming from the doors. “What’s going on? I heard that there was a guest.” You turned to see a paintbrush walking in on its bushy end and a painted face at the top of the handle. It stopped abruptly before it reached the middle of the room, its gaze fixed on your face with its mouth wide open. “Ah, Y/F/N, we do indeed.” Lumière answered. He gestured to you dramatically, “This is….. Um mademoiselle,” he looked up at you, “Pardon me, I never asked you your name.” He said sheepishly, clearly embarrassed by his carelessness. “It’s fine Lumière.” You replied smiling down at him as he was the one who made you feel welcomed in a place that was anything but welcoming. “You can all call me Y/N.” All the living objects in the room turned to face you, a state of shock clearly etched upon their face. You were puzzled as to why they did it. “What?” You questioned. After a few brief silent moments it was the paintbrush, Y/F/N, who answered your question. “Oh nothing. It’s just a very beautiful name.” “Thank you.” You replied, “I like your name too. Reminds me of my father.” “How so?” the paintbrush questioned as it slowly approached you, its stare not leaving your face. “Well,” you began, “It is my father’s name as well.” The paintbrush looks at you, expecting you to continue. “He was an artist.” “Was?” He looked at you. “Yes. He’s been missing for several years. Almost nine I believe. He went to paint a picture for some rich family and never came back.” You had to pause to ensure that you didn’t cry. “People don’t remember him and tell me that he’s dead, never existed. But I know that isn’t true. I can feel it. Sometimes though, I forget things, small things, and they never come back. I don’t even remember the sound of his voice” You breathed in, tears starting to fill your eyes. "I’m so sorry.” He said, voice breaking. “Don’t be. It’s not your fault.” You replied, wiping at your eyes, hoping to end the conversation there. He whispered back “If only that was true.” but it was drowned out by a loud snore, so you didn’t hear his reply. You jumped at the noise. “What was that?” You asked any one of the objects in the room. The snore was once again heard and this time you managed to pin point exactly where the noise was coming from. The blue and gold armoire was the cause of the snores. The top cupboard opened and closed slightly as each snore passed. Five. Five was now the total of living objects you had encountered. Lumière clearly saw your shock and offered you some comforting words. “Do not be alarmed, mademoiselle Y/N,” he said calmly. “This is just your wardrobe.” He gestured dramatically to the snoozing furniture. “Meet Madame de Garderobe, a great singer!” You internally wondered how a wardrobe could be a great singer when Cogsworth made a snide comment that made you feel guilty for laughing. “She’s a better sleeper.” Cogsworth commented and your giggle was loud enough to cause the Madame to awaken. She yawned loudly before looking directly at Cogsworth with her curtain eyes. “Cogsworth you officious alarm clock.” She scolded. Apparently she had heard his comment. “A diva needs her beauty rest.” From the look on Cogsworth’s face it looked like he was about to throw back another insult but Lumière swooped in before he could. “Of course you do Madame.” He gave Cogsworth a pointed look. “Forgive us, but we have someone for you to dress.” It took a while for you to realise that that person would be you. You were about to retaliate saying how you liked what you were wearing but Garderobe had already spotted you and shouted joyously, “Finally! A woman!” She pulled you towards her and began pulling at your face and clothes. “Pretty eyes, proud face. Yes!” Her drawers opened and closed in what you thought was her version of a happy clap. “I will find you something worthy of a princess!” You couldn’t help but dread what was about to happen. Not only did you expect to be shoved into a dress with a corset and wig, but you were terrified that your gloves would be removed, revealing your hand for everyone to see. You briefly thought that enchanted objects wouldn’t be too concerned by a girl with a china hand but you didn’t want to risk it. On top of all that, you just weren’t a princess, and never would be. You didn’t want to be made over. You like the way you were now. “I’m not a princess.” You pointed out to the wardrobe. “Nonsense!” The Madame said, brushing away your protest quickly. “Now let me see what I’ve got in my drawers.” She opened them quickly, and you had to bat away several moths that were released. “How embarrassing.” she exclaimed, and you were surprised to see the sides of the curtains go a deep red instead of the blue you had seen so far. Before you could question how such a thing was possible, how any of this was possible, Garderobe had already released a hoop skirt and was now draping it over your body despite the fact you were still wearing other clothes and that your bulky bag was still draped over your shoulder. Several long lengths of fabric shot out of the wardrobes drawers and Madame spun you around quickly as she placed each sheet of fabric over the skirt in a mismatched pattern. She turned you away from her and wound a thick ribbon around your waist and pulled. Hard. You let out a sharp breath as you felt your tool box dig into your hip. She paused for a brief moment to call out, “Froufrou, come help Mumsie!” You used this time to loosen the ribbon around your waist so that not only was your bag not digging into your body, but also so that you could actually breathe properly. Suddenly the doors burst open and a tasselled footstool came rushing in, barking non-stop. It ran over to and around you in circles several times before jumping up at the wardrobe. So this was Froufrou and from the constant yapping you presumed that it was a dog. The castle’s pet. With her dog by her side, Madame once again continued to make the dress. Several more strips of fabric shot out over you and you felt a breeze travel up from behind you when the wardrobe made a small exclamation of joy. No sooner was the sound made, something rough and coarse landed on your head. “Ta-dah!” Madame celebrated. “Perfecto!” You looked over to the mirror that hung on the wall and you dropped your hands down by your side in a state of exhaustion. Your reflection was garish. The ‘dress’ (if you could even call it that) swallowed you completely. Several clashing colours of different sized patches were thrown over the base hoop skirt and the top was simply just fabric in a horrific pink thrown over your shoulders. On your head was a ridiculous powdered wig, one that could have rivalled one of the Bimbettes’ when they were trying to impress Gaston. You looked down at Lumière and Cogsworth who were both trying desperately to hide their laughter and embarrassment. They along with Y/F/N were backing towards the doors. “Anyway,” Lumière said, “If you have any further needs then the staff will attend to you. We are at your service.” He bowed and grabbed Cogsworth and Y/F/N and they all slipped out of the room. With their hasty movement, Froufrou lost interest in Garderobe and ran after them in pursuit. Moments later, Plumette swooped out of the room, her dusting complete (she’d done a spectacular job as even the bed sheets were devoid of dust). With that the doors closed leaving you alone with Garderobe. Not wanting to waste any time getting your questions answered you spun round to face the wardrobe and asked, “How did this happen?” You received a snore as a reply. Madame was already asleep, not even marvelling over her creation. You sighed disappointed that you wouldn’t get the answers you were hoping for. You removed the wig from your hair and slipped out from underneath the hoop skirt, relieving yourself of the dress. It remained intact and standing despite the lack of a body within it. The amount of fabric there was astonishing. With your only guardian asleep you decided to try and find a way to escape. Staring at the dress an idea hit you. You walked over to it and began collecting fabric and dragging it over to the window. With that you started to put your escape plan into action. ———————————————————————————————————– On the other side of the doors, down the hallway, the staff were in a heated conversation. Froufrou had run off to go to the Maestro, which left the candelabra, clock, feather duster and paintbrush behind. “I can’t believe it was her.” Y/F/N said solemnly. “She hasn’t aged a day.” “It is most fortunate non? That she has returned to us.” Lumière pointed out. “How is it fortunate, Lumière?” Cogsworth asked, “She didn’t even recognise us.” “Sweet Y/N.” Plumette reminisced. “My little girl doesn’t know who I am!” Y/F/N yelled. “She’s been alone for nine years! Thinking I had up and abandoned her.” The distraught he felt was clear in his words. “Non, mon ami.” Lumière comforted the paintbrush. “She knows you are not dead. She loves you.” The paintbrush nods at his words. “She just isn’t expecting you to be a paintbrush.” Cogsworth stated, which earned him a glare from Lumière. “What do we do, mon amour?” Plumette asked her lover. “I do not know. As much as I hate to say it, we are merely strangers to her. She knows not of the times in the past.” He replied solemnly. “Which means what exactly?” Y/F/N asked. “It means,” Cogsworth started “that Y/N is to know nothing of the curse. She cannot find out anything about it, not even that we are her family.” He broke off after that, the memories of you flushing back. “I have to pretend that I don’t know my own daughter?” Y/F/N said, staring emptily at the floor. “It is for the best mon ami. As much as the pain of it will cause us, she cannot know. It would be dangerous for her to know too much. Besides it does not mean you cannot spend time with her, non?” Y/F/N nodded slowly and if he could cry, then the tears would be falling. “What of the master?” Plumette questioned. “Surely he must know.” “Of course he doesn’t.” Cogsworth said bluntly. “He’s too much of a fool to notice. He was watching her in the cell for half of the day, and didn’t even recognise her.” “It would be for zee best that he never finds out either.” Lumière stated. “They weren’t on the best terms when that night happened and telling him would only make him more…” He paused trying to think of the appropriate word. “Like his father.” Y/F/N said. All four of them nod in agreement. As they made their way to the kitchen they made the unanimous decision to tell the rest of the staff the plan. That the master was not to know who she was and that she was to know nothing of before. Little did they know that before that could happen, they’d have to find a way to keep you inside the castle, with them at all.
Do y’all remember that one picture of David Duchovny from last year where he was in like, this airport and he took a selfie in some type of reflective surface with his weird ass sunglasses and his pasty tan shirt with jeans and he’s like, looking dramatically to the left or something because I remember that picture explicitly it haunts me
Maybe a feeling. Or a four-letter word. I am not sure.
You see, I keep on making up things in the dark so the monsters won’t be disappointed when they creep up to my bed. Tonight, I tried to present them the overused memories of you. They were tattered and smeared with black lipstick that I used on the Halloween night. Why? Because I didn’t dress up as yours anymore. I haven’t been in a while.
It’s funny why I still talk to you in my writings. Maybe because you’re one of the ghosts I grew comfortable with. I don’t mind you haunting me if it’s the only way that I can remember that you existed. Or did you? Sometimes, I feel like I only imagined you. Somewhere, somehow, when my younger self refused to live in this hellish reality. But you, you’re also some kind of hell.
I trace your shadow into hotel corners I haven’t been. I hunt for your face in a space between strangers’ heads. I picture you sitting across me on a dinner table. I guess you can never unlearn what you never knew. You are a bittersweet mystery that will always cling on my tongue. My words will always build themselves in memorial of your lies.
But if we’re being honest here, broken is a word that doesn’t describe me anymore. I don’t long for you nor do I miss you. I don’t even want you back. I just like rewriting you into hundreds of pages because, you and I, we’re more beautiful on paper. There’s no magic in being a poison to each other. The happy ending is the space between us.
I kept on saying that I’d get over you and I think I’ve reached the other side now. There’s nothing here. Only the void stretching in front of me. But I am relieved that the pain is no longer inside me. You can’t hurt me from where I am. And I guess, that’s everything that matters now.
job au prompt: ‘i have a very cute neighbour and very thin walls and one day I call you and err your moans are very synchronised with my neighbour’s’ + ‘
I called you because I was curious and wow you have a very soothing voice can you please sing me to sleep’
Having faced many a dilemma within your life the worst of problems didn’t seem to phase you, or that is until you had stumbled across a small issue that now had you beyond lost. You were a realist and it was within your nature to meet a problem head on and yet all you had done thus far was ignore it.
“I was so scared when they were building it. There was always a doubt that it would work the same way that it did in my mind. When they sent me pictures of the construction, sometimes I wouldn’t even open the emails. I’d just move the images to a folder named ‘Bridge.’ It’s surreal that this once existed in my mind. I’ve seen it one million times on a computer monitor. I know every single one of these pipes, and I remember the moment that I decided where to place them. Now I am so much smaller than something that once only existed in my imagination. I can stand inside of it. It feels like being inside a movie that you directed or a book that you wrote. And you can’t help but feel powerful.”
Leila Araghian is the young architect behind Tehran’s recently completed Tabiat Bridge. Construction of the bridge was completed in 2014 despite the difficulties of international sanctions. The bridge has become a cultural and physical centerpiece of Tehran, and Leila captured the imagination of the architecture world by winning the right to design it at the age of 26.
When I was younger, just on the cusp of being a teenager, my sister and I were in the attic. We were hunting for some old toys we had stored up there that we wanted to pull out and give a run for their money. It was a simply designed attic; old floor boards, steepled roof, everything bare to the eye. That’s why it was so bizarre when we noticed the small cubby door on one of the walls, logically leading to what would have been the outside of the building.
Being the curious creatures we were, we just had to open it. The long and narrow crawlspace we discovered defied imagination; how was it possible for it to be there? It violated everything our young minds knew about space and architecture, and so I ran off to get my dad while my sister stayed and watched it just to make sure it did not disappear while I was away.
When I came back with him, he was just as stunned as we were with the discovery. After pondering it for a short while, we all knew there really was not any choice; we had to know what was in there. Getting down on our hands and knees, we went inside to investigate the seeming impossibility. We found more attic. The same décor, just more walls, and a much, much larger space, filled with shelves and storage containers. It was utterly fascinating that it was filled with all manner of things; art, tools, appliances. We wondered how it had all gotten there. Some of it could not have even physically been brought in unless it had been built from scratch in that space, or the building was erected around it, such as a matching washer and dryer.
But even stranger yet was that my father began to recognize the things stored there. Things he had lost. Things he had thrown away over the years, renewed and in prime condition. These were his things, from the years of his life. It was amazing. We vowed to come back in the morning and remove everything we could, because there was so much history, nostalgia, and genuinely useful objects held there.
The next day came, and for some reason, we all seemed just far to busy to go back; ‘it will be there tomorrow’, we all said. And the next day. And the day after that, we barely even thought about it, as it slipped away from our minds like fog. Before too long, only a few weeks out, I was convinced I had dreamed the entire thing, and no one spoke on it anymore. I did not even bother looking in the attic, that was how far removed from reality the idea was.
Time passed, and my sister and I grew into our twenties. We both moved away, and she had kids of her own, both of us married. Unfortunately, tragedy struck, and my father fell ill. We both had to return to care for him, and prepare his estate for the inevitable conclusion of his terminal disease.
It probably comes as no surprise that this put us both in the attic again; many things needed to be organized and removed. And it probably comes as no surprise that when we were there, we stumbled across that same cubby door we had seen more than a decade prior, and in that instant, we looked at each other and remembered. We could see it in each others’ eyes; we had both forgotten for no reason. We were determined to not let it go to waste again. I told my sister I was going to go get some boxes so we could start moving things out, and she agreed to go inside and start gathering what she could to bring out.
I had just left the attic when my phone rang. Answering it, my mother came on from the other end in hysterics. My father had just passed away. I went back up to get my sister after hanging up, no longer concerned with pilfering the strange room, numb from shock. Except, the door was gone. I stared at the wall where it had been, feeling the terror of betrayal. I began to scream and yell hysterically for my sister, but there was no answer. I clawed at the wall, and took a hammer to it, only to eventually break through to the aluminum siding of the house, creating a hole I would later have to patch to sell the building.
I had no idea what to do. I did not even think I could realistically call the police; I had no idea what to tell them. Eventually I gathered myself up and went to the hospital to be with the rest of my family, expecting them to ask where my sister was.
They never did.
Not even her husband.
A few years have passed since then. Every once in a while, I see pictures of my sister around my house, and I remember that once upon a time, she existed. Sometimes I think I made her up, or that I’m misremembering a stranger’s face in those old photos. No one ever came looking for her, no police, not her job. No one acknowledged she was missing. When I would ask my mother, she would stare blankly at me, and after some prodding, slowly nod. She remembered, yes, I had a sister. And that was as interested as she got. My sister’s husband gave me much the same reaction; he would ask me who I was talking about when I mentioned her name. Eventually he would concede that he seemed to recall being married at some point, and his lack of conviction would make me think I made it all up. I probably did. Either way, he has a new girlfriend, and his children are calling her mom. They never missed a beat.
But sometimes, I wake up in the middle of the night because I hear someone walking in my attic. I hear a voice I think I recognize, but I can’t place who it belongs to anymore. She asks for me to help her, but I don’t even know why I would be helping her, or what I’m helping her do. Either way, she’s in the attic, and there is nothing in my attic, so it must be my imagination.
I just wish I would stop hearing her voice after I wake up.