Through a curtain, darkly. Please Lord, let this be over with soon. Vaulted ceilings skyrocket all the way up the wall and peak vertically, then tilt in. Modernized architecture. One did a paper on Chinese architecture, freshman year of high school, and the one thing it taught me was how to spell ‘architecture’. Anyway – Through a curtain, darkly. The window looking out the cul-de-sac is large and imposing; latticed. Cinderella, stepmother, couch. Dark hues, deep purples, suffocating draperies. Even the cat cannot breathe fully. Tortoise torture in Time dragging on and on and onwards. Watching molasses paint dry. Doesn’t even taste sweet but like Dow Chemical dumping in the river. Rough hardwood floors, covered by moth eaten oriental rugs and carpet. There is a safe, a trapdoor below. When you walk across, the sound of your feet stomping gets hollow in one stop, one spot. In silence, there are entrapments – sad, mournful, morose violin music squiggling and squealing away in its lament. Like a Victrola hidden. Unfound, you can’t find it. It’s like it’s hidden in the walls and the record keeps going on and on and onward. Cheaply made throw pills, throw pillows – their only function to bring them to your ears to block out the soon, the sound. But they are cheaply made and aren’t thick enough to block out what Dementors feed off of in the dark. It’s a drafty old house. The sky is overcast and bleak. A chill whips through my body as the large window shakes, rattling with the winter wind. Cat slinks away behind the sofa, like it knows another place where it can go. Cranberry walls forever stained but what they’ve borne witness to, what they’ve heard there. Scribbling lines with a Crayola crayon or colored pencil. House makeup, deep mascara’d lashes. Sayonara, lily pad! This enchanted creature is hopping away from here now, to feast on flies and much, much more. Same Atavan-fueled daydream. Fiskar scissors arts and crafts. Monday’s marmalade asking questions to the butter. Beauty and the Beast. Red velvet ropes on this red carpet. Be our Guest, please.

Author: Roe

30. she/her. Songwriter & Trek Punk Soul™.

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