Walking down the street, I looked up at the slightly clearing sky, where large white clouds gathered on the horizon.
The gray was breaking, faint patches of pale blue showing through, but the beauty felt distant, like it belonged to someone else's day.
A quiet, gloomy detachment wrapped around me.
The world looked the same, people hurrying, cars passing, streetlights flickering on, but everything felt colorless, muted, as if a thin film separated me from it all.
Lingering sadness sat heavy in my chest, dull and constant, making each breath a little harder.
At first, I thought of just going to school.
It was familiar, a place with routine and noise that might drown out the thoughts circling in my head.
But as I got closer, I suddenly remembered that Mom had already requested leave for me.
She might know by now I wasn't there.
And if I just disappeared without a word, she would search everywhere.
The school would be the first place she looked.
The idea of facing her, of seeing her smile or hearing her voice, knowing what I knew now, made my stomach twist with quiet dread.
I didn't want to see Mom.
I didn't want to see Dad.
I didn't want to go home.
A childlike helplessness settled over me, soft but crushing.
Where was I supposed to go?
There was no safe place left.
Not anymore.
I stopped walking for a moment, standing on the sidewalk as people flowed around me, lost in the uncertainty of a world that no longer felt like it had room for me.
The crowd brushed past, their hurried steps and quiet conversations a reminder that life went on for everyone else, unchanged.
But for me, everything had shifted.
I stood there a little longer, the weight of that truth pressing down.
My feet started moving again, not toward home or school, just forward.
Eventually the streets narrowed, buildings gave way to trees, and I found myself at the edge of the small park near the old neighborhood.
I had come here sometimes as a little kid, back when the swings still felt exciting and the slide wasn't too short.
Now the place looked smaller, emptier.
I walked past the playground, past the benches where old people usually sat feeding pigeons, and kept going until I reached the far side, where the trees grew thicker and the path turned into dirt.
A low stone wall bordered one corner, half-hidden by overgrown bushes.
Behind it was a narrow patch of grass, shaded even in daylight, with a single weathered bench tucked against the wall.
No one ever came back here.
It felt like a forgotten spot, private enough that I could breathe.
I sat down slowly, the wood cold through my clothes.
For a long time I just stared at the ground between my shoes, leaves scattered like forgotten paper.
The sounds of the city faded to a low hum behind the trees.
Birds moved in the branches above, small rustles and distant calls.
Wind brushed my face, cool and steady.
My mind didn't race anymore.
It drifted instead, slow and heavy.
The locked door from my dreams used to feel so real, so frightening.
Now it seemed small compared to today.
The real doors were the ones adults closed behind them, the soft clicks that hid everything.
Mom's orange dress flashing in the bushes.
Dad's hand in Aunt Sophie's hair.
The wet sounds, the moans, the way their bodies moved like they had practiced for years.
I waited for anger to come, the kind that would make me want to scream or break something.
It didn't.
Only this flat, gray quiet remained.
My body still remembered the strange heat from earlier, that confusing tingle low in my stomach.
It flickered once or twice as the memories replayed, uninvited.
Each time it did, shame followed right behind, sharp but dull at the edges.
Why did my body do that?
Why couldn't it just feel sick, like my mind did?
I pressed my palms against my thighs, hard, trying to push the feeling away.
It faded, but left a hollow echo.
I thought about the books on the shelves at home.
All those thick volumes no one really read.
Dad's calm voice saying they looked good for guests.
Mom shrugging when I asked questions.
Maybe the books were never for knowledge.
Maybe they were just another closed door, another way to keep things looking right on the outside.
I wondered if I would ever open one again without thinking of this day.
Probably not.
The sky darkened overhead, blue turning to deep gray, then black.
Streetlights beyond the trees glowed orange, but here in the corner the shadows stayed thick.
I pulled my knees up, arms wrapped around them, chin resting on top.
Time slipped.
Crickets started, a steady chirp that filled the silence.
A dog barked somewhere far off.
I stayed until my legs went numb from sitting still, until the cold seeped deep into my bones.
Finally I stood.
My joints ached.
I walked out of the hidden corner, past the empty swings, past the quiet paths.
The park gate creaked as I pushed through.
I stood there in the dark street, the day's weight still inside me.
Something had been set in motion.
And though I didn't know what awaited me…
I knew one thing.
I would never return to being the same person again.