It felt as if I was walking on the graveyard of lost memories, as I was making my way through the snow in my dads backyard in the moonlight. The dog basket of our old dog that has been dead for nearly ten years, was covered in snow, half chewed on by our new dog. I’d nearly forgotten the sight of how she used to lie in that little basket with her head through the opening.
The backyard was once filled with green and flowers, but now it had a sinister glow to it with nearly decomposed flowers, dead branches and broken ornaments. The statue of the renaissance guard, that in summer time was cheekily peeking through the bush, was now lying on the ground since a squall pushed over the heavy statue. It was nearly unrecognizable as it was partially covered in snow. The bust of the reading girl who was usually surrounded by flowers, was now shivering with snow in her chiseled hair and on her open book. It made me aware that even though she is always reading the same page, she now couldn’t. I almost wanted to swipe the sculpted book clean.
The house that was once filled with life and joy, looks more like a mausoleum now. A decade has passed, but few things have changed. Heating is only in those rooms where there’s life. The rest of the house is simply a place to storage more artefacts and memories that eventually will be forgotten. The Virgin Mary statues that my mom collected (just for esthetics), now dauntlessly look down on us from the chimney-piece. The coal-black eyes from the Venetian masks she painted on canvasses follow my every move as I go up the stairs in the dark hallway. Doors squeak and unidentified sounds make it all look as I am sleeping in a haunted house. But it is merely the house that is haunted by memories.
Dit-oui 