"Not this again", I though, looking at the weird house while remembering the nasty smell that it used to have. I knew what I had to do, I just didn't want to. "Go ahead", I kept telling myself while answer "I don't want to". I think it was the child that I once was who was doing the answering. I don't miss my childhood in the noisy wooden floors that gave me constant nightmares anytime someone would walk down the stairs. Last time that I visited, I realized how terrible this place was and kept asking myself "was it always that bad?", and the answer would be "most likely, yes". I guess a child learns to adapt and your mind makes it less unpleasant for you to survive. Just looking at those reddish putrid walls makes me shake my head while I compare what I see to what I remember and realize that it is far worse.
