the house

She told herself, its just a house. And in fact, it was.

There was no life within these walls but there was also no death, it was simply empty space with walls dividing it. That's what made it so creepy. Although they lived in this house for so many years there was nothing that made it special, that made it home. It held no joy, no happiness, not even a real indistinguishable memory.

It was all a cracked façade, not really fooling anyone who stepped foot inside the house. The plants were fake, and the real plants were dying, despite the light being right and the soil being watered, the plants still lay dying, atmosphere choking any hope from the stems.  Fruits had to be eaten quickly, rotting seemed to take an unnatural hold over the food, although it sit on the kitchen table like every other street on the block.

Although the house was cleaned twice a week, it always seemed to look in minor disarray, dishes piled in the sink, or a misplaced jacket strewn over a chair. This place was simply a building, masquerading as a normal house on a normal street in a normal neighborhood.

The energy within the walls was tense, everything seemed to be uninviting below the surface, one misstep and the façade would come crumbling down, the house along with it. Nothing held real value, the collections or things were just...stuff, filling areas to fill the gaps of emotion. They thought that if they collected enough stuff, feelings would follow, however, it never did.

Despite the family inside supposedly being a unit, it was every man for himself. A fight against the world and each other but they couldn't remember why they were fighting. They turned into a team with one common goal however: no one can find out about the charade. They put on smiles and play the part of dolls in this messed up house, being whatever they were thought to be.

Feisty.

Loud.

Stupid.

Hardworking.

Messy.

Family.