Early Times

Years 1 to 6 in the deep basement I grew up in were a dark fairytale, one I shall never tell to a child. There were shoe-shod steps that rained upon listless dreams. The dank stank of in-dwelling rodents, dug-in behind crumbling wallpaper. Bare boards varnished with grey lights creaked like old coffin lids. It was not so bad, at least not until year 4, only then did I have cause to wonder about the green city park nearby my head, and the blue sky above it. I suspected people walked there just for the sake of walking. Occasionally, distant laughter seeped through the dispersal of hovering grime. I got to hankering, I got to thinking; Mind-monsters imprisoned me. Then on year 6 we moved. Not having my own suitcase, I stuffed those past years, into my small form. It took decades for those ghosts to move somewhere else, but i watched them go one by one.