Her gaze flitters as she looks about the room.
All seems the same as it once was, she thinks.
Gliding across the shredded carpet,
Her attention is drawn to the winding stairwell.
Memories ravage her mind…

She is seven years old, sliding down
The smooth, freshly polished banister-
She had won the race.
Her little mind is ever so exultant.
Climbing the stairs again,
She never wants the game to end.

She blinks, taken aback by the strength of the flashback.
She knows it could have been far worse.
A heavy sigh escapes her nostrils.
She turns to leave the beaten, empty home,
But caught an unbearable urge to run up the stairs-
To the attic, to burry herself,
In the moth eaten remains of her past.