#I unintentionally made the colored words into a coherent sentence

[assistedbytherats]

You know who you are.

Here's to all the people who I see in my notifications all the time, just showing me with support, I love you guys sm.

You know who you are, I see yall's usernames and pfps in fucking squadrons marching through my notes I love you guys so much.

I open my notifs and see a big list of notes from the same person, and I'm like oh you've gone through my blog? I hope you liked it!!! I sob with joy whenever I see someone's liked some of my posts in reverse-chronological order, like yeah I see you, making a little journey through my blog, you silly little pioneer, you have my heart and soul. I'm so glad my words felt good to you.

[sqiderling]

Attic

Word Count: 1189

A/N: I haven’t properly written a full piece in ages I suddenly got the urge to write when I saw the picture below because god knows why. I think I was just feeling shitty that day so yes to shitty days that give me inspiration! This isn’t anything cheerful but if you still want to read it be my guest. Also, I haven’t properly written in ages like I said before and I definitely have not written anything as moody as this before. I didn’t edit this so there are probably a lot of mistakes and the ending.. that was really rushed if I’m going to be honest because I just wanted some way to end this piece and I never really had a plan. BUT the main reason why I wanted to finish this today was because I hit 300 followers! I wanted to get some content out for you guys because honestly, without you guys I wouldn’t be hitting this follower milestone. So thank you guys for following me. It really means the world. Anyway, this A/N’s gone on for too long already. Enjoy!(?) 

It’d been two weeks since Julia had moved back into her mother’s home after she passed away. With every step she took in that house, she was filled with guilt and mourning. Leading up to her mother’s unexpected passing she’d been away partying in Vegas with her friends. She hadn’t contacted her mother in two years. Such a thing had slipped her mind while she was gormlessly distracted with blinding lights, strong alcohol and loud music. 

Another month, another party, another amazing venue, another distraction.

Her stay during her first week had been tough. The vivid memory of her last visit to this house (that had been pushed to the back to the recesses of her mind) resurfaced like someone drowning coming up for air. Sweet, sweet air.

Oh the hours she spent weeping atop her mother’s cold cold bed. If she lay there still enough, she could make out her mother’s scent, embedded into the sheets after years of lonely nights sleep.

Julia sat at the wooden industrial table in the kitchen one murky October afternoon, nursing a warm cup of tea between her ice cold palms. She was looking out into the backyard of the property, lush with trees, shrubs and neatly trimmed hedges. She’d made a habit of going out there every morning to maintain the pristine facade the garden provided. If one was to look behind the garden and over the low fence that surrounded the perimeter of the house, they would come face to face with an assortment of dead trees, fallen logs, a dried stream and a long expanse of barren land. The old maid had told Julia that when her mother died, the vegetation died with her.

A sudden draft entered the kitchen seemingly from above causing a shiver to run through Julia’s body. Looking to the ceiling, she spotted what looked like a attic trapdoor close to the side of the room. Julia had never noticed the door being there but it wasn’t much of a surprise as Julia was much too busy with other more important matters.

Dragging a stool underneath the entry, she stepped upon it and reach up to pull the trap door the rest of the way. With a light tug at the ladder attached to the inside of the door, it extended itself down to the ground in a slow, smooth motion. Unlike Julia had expected, no clouds of dust had burst out from the opening when the door first opened. This attic had clearly been of use to her mother.

The ladder was a lot sturdier than it looked Julia had noticed as she climbed up. The ‘attic’ or whatever it was was a lot tidier than she thought it was going to be as she poked her head up through the opening. There was a cosy feeling to the room, and if it wasn’t so cold up there, she probably wouldn’t want to leave. A large wooden desk lay surrender to the numerous objects perched on top of it. There were tubes of paint sitting upright in two neat rows, pots of plants, paintbrushes, a container of coloring pencils (its contents not to neatly placed in their spots), sketchbook layered open sketchbooks, a beautiful typewriter and an open black box. A cup of unfinished water sat near the edge of the table, lipstick smudged at the mug’s brim. Julia stepped towards the desk, her eyes focused on the open sketchbook on top of the pile. She recognised the distinct style.

The sun began to slowly reveal itself from behind the clouds when Julia’s thoughts finally started to settle into coherent words and sentences.

This was her mother’s secret room. This was her getaway.

Julia felt her throat constrict a little as she sat down in the modest stool that accompanied her mother’s desk. She inhaled sharply and the cold air stung the back of her throat. Julia gently glided her fingers across the pages of the sketchbook. Before she knew it, she was turning the pages and looking at all the little pieces of art left by her mother’s imagination. 

Once she got the last page she closed the book and she went to touch the keys of the typewriter. As long as Julia could remember, she’d wanted her own typewriter. The whole idea of it, the old-school aura that surrounded it, the noise that it made when pressing the keys and the extra amount of work you had to put it when using one of them. Although the machine looked fairly new and well-kept, Julia noticed that the black letter on the white keys were already beginning to fade away.

Next, Julia went to the mug sitting at the edge of the table. She cupped it in her hands, the ice cold feeling from the surface trickling into her palms. If she closed her eyes and stayed still long enough she could feel the warmth of what would’ve been a hot cup of water, its steam rising up and escaping through the open window right in front of the desk. Julia’s mother never liked cold water even when it was a hot day. It was either warm or hot water, or no water at all.

Much to her own surprise, Julia hadn’t cried yet. She knew, however, this was all just the calm before the storm.

Opening her eyes, her line of sight fell open the open black box that was the only item found on the far left of the desk. Picking it up, Julia noticed that there were only several items residing in the four walls of the box; a paperweight shaped as a seashell, dried leaves and a stack of typewritten letters addressed all to her.

Julia gasped shakily and carefully slid the papers out from underneath the paperweight and leaves. She did a quick flick through the pages, seeing that they were all dated in the top right corner. The most recent letter dated back to a month before her mother’s death. For this one, she took her time reading through, word for word, sentence by sentence. By the time she had gotten to the end of the letter, she’d unintentionally creased the edges of the page by gripping too hard. Her tears were also splattered across the letter, some letters bleeding into them.

Her mother had known that she was going to die soon, somehow. She had been 78 years old at the time of her death, but to Julia that wasn’t an age that seemed reasonable for her mother to have gone. From what she knew, she had been quite healthy. Her mother’s premonition for her own death even in her letter came with no explanation. In fact, she’d completely avoided the topic.

The floorboards of the attic creaked as Julia went to wipe away her tears. She put her elbow on the desk and rested her forehead in her palm.

With her tears blurring everything in sight, Julia didn’t notice the conspicuous dark figure looming over her, seemingly causing the room temperature to drop drastically.

“I just don’t understa-” Julia said. But she said no more.