Saturday, 1 February 2014

Fighting Memories

Clich kere to view the VisDare Challenge-

She walked up into the abandoned house, her camera crew following like obedient chicks following the mother hen. By now she was used to them and felt quite oblivious to their presence. She was focused now, on her goal, conquering her ambitions one by one, a woman on a mission. Her heart had been closed to everyone around her since her father had decided that abandoning them, and her, was better than facing the repercussions of his actions. She was determined, strong -willed and independent. Focused. All she had to do was complete this last segment before she could make off for her long holiday in the Indies.
The house she entered was talked about all right. Surrounded by mysteries, said to be haunted (although that was probably a rumour), had a tragic and violet past. Even from the outside she could see the unkempt condition of the house, the abandoned air that surrounded it, rousing a sensation of despair and longing so strong that she had to stop and force herself to regain control on her emotions. She entered first and stopped short. The house was bare, as though the previous inhabitants never wanted to leave proof of them ever having lived there. Frayed and tattered curtains whipped about in the open windows adding to the stagnant and putrid air which gave it an undertone of suppressed depravity. The wooden planked floor rotted,the paint peeled off the walls, but everything was completely bare. Stripped. Naked, for all to see. Blood stained the foot of the staircase, telling a story about its forgotten violent past. They took the necessary shots with her running commentary. Upstairs they did the same. It seemed as though she was on autopilot. She was numb, just doing her duty. They finally entered the last room. It was smaller than the others. But most importantly it was not bare. There, right in the centre of the room stood a wonderland. A child's toy piece, she thought, this must have been a nursery. She didn't want to shoot here. With a grave shake of her head and a few curt words she sent her crew to pack up the equipments. She somehow thought shooting in this place is going to break something, something precious and beloved, something sanctified. She stepped farther into the room. Her hand automatically reached up to touch the arch. She ran her hand along it as though to soothe her own stinging soul. As she did, she thought of her own fathers betrayal, the subsequent pain of bereavement and despair, of love betrayed. She thought about the child that would gave gone through the same. And she felt pity. Pity for the child to face a fate so not unlike her own. Sadness and despair for her own situation mingled and became one with the sorrow she felt for the child. Her eyes glazed and misted over with unshed tears. With a deep breath, she took control. A simple 'no' escaped her parted lips. Squaring her shoulders, with unspoken words and a heavy heart she turned and walked out...out of the room....out of the house...out into the too bright traitorous sunshine.
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