2.01 Creative Writing

How long had it been now? Days, weeks, months? There was simply no telling as it felt just like yesterday when I last stood here.
The clouds above oozed and wafted the sun, casting a shadowy darkness onto the house in the distance. It was larger than I remembered it to be: the roof stretched higher towards the blackness, the windows prolonged as if they had to sustain more people looking out of them and the perky white house it once was, now seemed to blend with its surroundings. Adrenaline surged through my veins like a brisk yellow bug. A sudden storm erupted, paralysing me as it crackled and boomed throughout the atmosphere; the thought of being in it wholly disheartened me, along with the tang of anxiety that came with it. But there was

There was a path that lead unswervingly to my destination, and though it was unusual and should’ve questioned me, it engrossed me instead. Every step I took seemed to distress the weather, generating thick eerie fog that strangled the twisted, finger-like trees. They limited my freedom, as the frequent vegetation outlined my path; it was like a long stretched out jail-cell that imprisoned me. Usually, insects were acquaintances; we both go our separate ways, only caring about each other when they need a warm shelter to stay in, or when I accidentally step on one of them. Right now? Every single one of them that suspended from a branch, or rested on the ground tormented m22e with their sluggish movements and playful eyes, as if they were plotting my end. They were my enemy now, and I hadn’t long to depart the cage

It was bare, nothing but an overgrown jungle of brown grass and weeds. Maybe, it had scared everyone away, leaving the house abandoned and neglected; I certainly wouldn’t have wanted to stay there knowing what’s inside. However, that was the exact reason I had to go in. Turning my sights from the garden, I faced the front where the entrance to the house was staring right at me. It was morphed into a vertical maze as twisted vines wrapped their tentacles around the door. Through the limited cracks, I could see the black peeling door I had once been faced with. Around it, the bricks were smothered in dark green moss and decay, letting off a dank and nose-pinching scent. I wasn’t alone during my observations as the wind consistently howled in my ear, as if whispering for me to go inside. I wanted to, as standing there just left me shivering and tense. Taking in a deep breath, as well as the taste of what I believed was dust, I clutched the door handle. It was warm, disturbingly warm, as I pushed down, and pressed the door ajar. It begrudgingly creaked