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In Visible Me

Updated on March 20, 2014

Short Story

The small grey house sat quietly among the trees that surrounded it. The shrubs grew uncontrollably, covering almost every available spot of ground in the small yard, and a small rickety fence crumbled slowly around the edges of the property.

No welcoming lights flickered through the windows, no shadows passed behind the curtains, and no sounds could be heard coming from within. Now and again people walked by. Occasionally they slowed down to look curiously at the house before moving on. Did someone live there they wondered.

Inside nothing changed. Or did it?

She often looked around and asked herself, is this my life? Five thousand books, four hundred movies, and an old desk top computer. She moved quietly from room to room and no one even knew she was there. She lived alone in a house full of shadows and her presence didn't even seem to disturb the air.

She woke up each day surrounded by nothing. She talked to no-one. No-one in person. No voices did she hear. She communicated with the world through the computer and to those people out there she could be anyone. She could be someone. She could be someone else.

She never left the house any more, at least not physically. There was no-one by her side to share her thoughts and dreams with, and yes, even in this desolate place she dreamed. She dreamed such wonderful dreams; dreams where she was young and pretty and full of life. Not that she was old; far from it. Nor was she ugly. There was something almost haunting about her that reinforced the feeling that she was not real. It was just that in the dreams she was more alive and she was loved. In the dreams she was always loved.

There was no-one here to touch her, to kiss her, to curl up next to her in bed each night until sleep captured her once more. There was no-one to wake up to, enjoy the day with, to cook for, eat with, to finally see her as who she really was. To see her so she could see herself. Finally. To know she really existed. Yes, this was her life. This was her life and she was tired of it.

If she died tomorrow would anyone even know or care? She wanted another life, a different life. She wanted to be someone else. She was finely ready to be someone else. Her bag was packed and she had more than enough money. But to live again first she had to die. Die to be born again. It’s okay though. No-one would even notice.

Days passed; then months. The shrubs grew uncontrollably and weeds took over the property. People walked by a little quicker, the looks they cast were more cautious than before. They seemed almost apprehensive about what may live inside. A dog would occasionally sniff the edge of the lawn, whimpering softly before hastily moving on to happier pursuits.

Inside nothing may have moved, but she lived on. Somewhere else. As someone else. Living the life she dreamed of. Finally. She was seen. She was loved. She lived on.

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