World, Hold On

I stumbled upon an old mansion. It had a faded shade of yellow, and a moorish green canopy was threatening to swallow the walls. A soft creaking sound from the inside beckoned me to enter. And I did.

It was dark and damp inside, with a stench that reeked my insides. The creaking sound was monotonous, but more so than that, it was lifeless. It grew louder as the giant wooden door gently closed behind me. There was a silence that was deafening, and I was tempted to cover my ears in a bid to shut my mind to the pierces; to the screams.

The sound led me to a small bedroom. Its door was ajar, and a soft light gave a warmness to the room that was otherwise absent in the house. The rocking chair swung back and forth, creaking the wooden floor with every metronome. There was a lady on the chair, and I grew anxious. Sensing someone in the room, the lady stopped the swing, and turned her head sharply. I was at once comforted, because I knew who she was.

Her name was Virginia, and in the days of my childhood I had ever once so often gazed upon her visage and be entranced by her words. They were powerful, and left a deep impression in me. My mother would sit me by the river and entice me with the sweet melody of Virginia's stories. There was a half empty glass of water on her table. As if indulging in my nostalgia, she gave a weak smile with her parched lips.

A whisper.

"The world thinks that everything is alright. My smile is enough to set them at ease. They think I am strong. But soon, very soon, they will see how wrong they are, and oh, how shocked they will be. But by then, it would already be too late, and nothing would be salvageable, nothing would float on the surface."

With that, she turned her head back towards the window and the rocking of the chair began again, as Mrs Woolf finished the half empty glass of water.