Postcards From Home: Postcard #8

I never thought I’d write to you. I used all my strength to sweep every skerrick of that time into a big box left to collect dust in the attic. But like all things from the past it oozed out. Have you ever seen those octopus that squeeze themselves into coconut shells only to later unfold their tentacles and reveal their big slimy bodies, 8 legs curling beneath the water’s surface. That’s you. I fucking hate octopus. I remember that house. Everyone at school called it The Shack. I remember the night I left The Shack and although I never looked back, not once, I felt it’s eyes boring into the nape of my neck. I still feel them sometimes. The dark blue of the rotting wood panels in the moonlight, shifting under the shadows of clouds like a faltering smile. I hope you’re still there. I hope The Shack rolled you in salt and swallowed you whole, forever trapped in the belly of the beast you created.