All was quiet at number fifty-four Emerald Court. The lights had all been turned off, as had the televisions, computers and other electronics used by the family. MR Jones laid snoring, dreams of brown liquid in bottles, tall women in tight dresses and small bags of green herbs fuelling his night-time pleasure. MRS Jones lay beside him, a pillow over her head to block out the chainsaw she slept with and extra blankets covering her to hide the hurt. She dreamt of safety. A house behind stone walls, two big dogs and a steel gate to lock at night. Their daughter Sophie was stuck in a nightmare, harsh words and violence keeping her trapped. Her brother dreamt of soccer balls and trophies. Of happy family times and bike rides with friends. The house was silent. Battered and too tired to dream. It did have a wish though, for smooth walls and doors set right on hinges that didn’t squeak. For tonight it would rest until tomorrow, where new troubles would lie. For tonight it would remain a house of dreams until it would become the house of horrors once more.
This piece was inspired by a writing prompt that was given at my writers group which i could not attend last friday due to an exam. Fortunately, the minutes of each meeting are sent out in an email each month with the writing exercises included. This prompt was titled The Dream House. A piece of writing was read and participants were given 20 minutes to write whatever came to mind after hearing the piece. After reading the poem that was shared a few times, this was what i created. I hope you enjoyed it. If you would like to, you can Buy Me a coffee if you like what you read.