The porch steps looked fragile. On the top step, to the left, a small hole wallowed in pity. With the swing appearing beaten and bruised, she was starting to wonder if the steps would support her.

This had to be a sign.

She shouldn’t step inside the house at all.

The house looked like it used to be a deep red, beautiful at one time. Now, peeling paint, cracks scouring everywhere, reminding her of bloody knuckles after a beatdown of great proportions.

Her vision slowly trailed from the house to her hands.

Cracked skin from numerous punches, the blood slowly seeping out.

Shivers consumed her. The memories...

She didn’t want to remember. She just wanted all those memories to fade away.

The longer she stood there, the faster her anger simmered to the surface.

She hated red. Hated this house. Hated her father who ran out on her mom and her at the age of five. Now he decided to leave this miserable house to her in his will. He left without a backward glance, and twenty years later decided when he croaked he wanted to leave this disgusting house to her.

He knew exactly where she was to give the notification when he finally slipped into death from liver cancer. She couldn’t remember much about her father, but she remembered the excessive drinking. With the way he drank, perhaps it was fitting he died in the manner he did.

Should she feel remorseful? Maybe, but all she felt was rage. Hot, burning rage that he thought he needed to put this dreadful house into her name.

Just as suddenly, burning terror bombarded her.

This house had become her haven. She had needed to run away from her life, and for once in his life, her father had given her the perfect escape. One small thanks could be given for that.

“Hel—”

Sophie screamed. A strange looking man stood way too close to her liking. Where had he come from?

“Are you crazy? Just walking up to someone without a thought or care.” Sophie took a wobbly step back.

The man looked speechless—and somewhat filthy. Dirt and sweat hung off his face, with a shirt just as dirty, tattered in the front with little holes littered about. His jeans had a rip in the knee, dirt stains trailing down the length, right to his mud-caked boots.

“I—”

“I don’t appreciate being walked up to like that. Is it common practice for you to frighten people?” She slowly moved farther away from him.

He still stood too close for her comfort.

Oh, no.

Was this a horrible neighborhood?

Her house didn’t give the appearance that it was a nice neighborhood. This man didn’t help convince her either as he continued to stare at her strangely.

“Who are you? What kind of neighborhood is this? You need to leave or I will—” Sophie started to say she would call the police, but stopped. She didn’t trust the police. They weren’t there to help people. They never helped her when she needed them the most. “I’ll throw you off this property myself,” she finished with as much firmness as she could muster.

Like, whoa. Where was this bravery coming from anyway?

He glanced down at his clothes, then looked back at her. “I—”

“You need to leave now.”

“Stop. Just listen to me for once. Quit interrupting me. This is a great neighborhood. The only bad house here...is this one,” he exclaimed, throwing a hand toward her house. Sophie reacted instantly by taking two large steps back.

“I saw you standing here and assumed it was yours now. The yard needs a good mow, and I was just going to offer to mow it for you. Welcome you to the neighborhood and all. That’s it. Calm down,” he said, pointing to the yard this time.

Sophie glanced at his hand and then at the yard. Her focus had been on the house for so long she never took notice of the lawn. The sad state of despair dug deeper inside.

At least a foot tall, if not more, the dire need to mow the lawn slapped her in the face. She had never mowed a yard in her life. She didn’t even know how to work a lawn mower.

The longer she stared, the deeper the despair slipped in. But she didn’t know this man and didn’t trust any man.

Not anymore. They were all bad.

She looked back at him and gathered the little strength she had left from the long, trying day.

“I don’t need nor want your help. Please do not step foot on my property again.” She abruptly turned around, ignored the look of shock on his face, and walked quickly toward the porch steps.

Hesitating to enter the house earlier, now she burned with the need to get inside safely.

Staying carefully to the right of the steps, having no desire to fall through the hole already formed on the left, she quickly took her key that she had been twisting in her hands and shoved it into the lock. Thankfully, it unlocked without issue.

Shoving open the door, she stepped inside as fast as her feet would carry her and slammed the door shut. Twisting the lock immediately, a deep breath escaped. She put her back to the door and slid down with a slow pain, the tears finally falling.

Why was she crying? Did that strange man cause her tears? Was she that frightened of him?

She honestly didn’t believe so. But they felt good releasing from her body, a sort of cleansing that she needed.

She wanted this to work. Desperately needed her life to move in a good direction for once. She could only hope it would as she sat on the dirty floor, crying her eyes out.

(Copyright © 2015 Amanda Siegrist)

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