Fiction

Justene Musin

Pieces

I was new once. We all were. 

There were more like me. A considerable cluster of us. We existed together, on low-lying land. 

We were shaped, bit by bit, all of the same likeness. Piece by piece, our foundations were formed. Then we grew upwards, rising towards the skies. Through sun and storms, hail and heat, shifts of the seasons. 

Our soft innards were stored between the walls, our bones. Wood, bolts and nails held our skeletons together. Glossy panels garnished our shells, a pearly smile to the sun. Tiled rooftops crowned our heads, a warm hat to embrace our parts.  

I was becoming. More and more. Evolving. A place, a home. There I was. 

Time clocked by. The seasons evolved. Many months and moons later it was. The cluster of us stood together, complete. Ready to open ourselves up. 

My family first saw me. Beheld me with delight. The real estate agent opened the door. Their feet pattered on the floor. A tight family of three. The mother, named Aida, was perpetually optimistic. The father, Harry, a vividly creative soul. And the daughter Sabrina. Seven years. Whimsical and wonderful, the best sides of both parents. 

They knew instantly they wanted to live within my walls. And I knew in my deepest depths, that it was supposed to be. 

The “SOLD” sticker was smoothly pressed onto the “FOR SALE” sign. Dusk had settled, spreading itself thick like chunky peanut butter on toast. Pleats of gilded light mustered into my frame. 

In a matter of weeks, my family had moved within. Bejewelled my walls with their own art and photographs, planted their belongings into my cupboards, folded flowers and herbs into my garden. 

Aida bought a handcrafted aquamarine rug that lead from my front door into the foyer. Harry created watercolor art in his studio downstairs. He painted a mural in the hallway with Sabrina. Earthy tendrils of plants growing, reaching to the sun and beyond. 

In return, I warmed them with wood fires on numbingly frosty mornings and evenings. Kept them secure. Hugged them at night as my walls leaned in ever so slightly, soft creaks echoing through the house. 

Sabrina had a secret hiding place beneath my foundations. She buried a time capsule there, with a note to her future self, and a few precious trinkets. What the letter said, I’ll never know. 

Every six months, my kitchen doorway was etched with a marker of Sabrina’s height as she grew taller. I observed her over the years, as she became more cognisant and a more complex human being. She spent many evenings huddled at her desk, sketching or painting. Her artwork was becoming more refined, her potential infinite. Nothing and no one every stays the same, I was learning. 

As half a decade passed by, I saw as the stresses of life ebb away at Aida and Harry. Their bright light had dimmed. They were treading quicksand. Despite this, they pushed themselves to keep the optimism they had. But it was slipping through their hands. The world was changing and darkening, bit by bit. It took more and more effort to find the tiny specks of light. 

One summer evening, a sudden storm descended. It plunged into the atmosphere and dumped itself down heavily. 

The night blackened, the rain blasted and that fateful flood came. The water edged higher and higher. It’s appetite was insatiable. The garden was consumed. My drains devoured. Every conceivable space was not enough for this force, it wanted more. 

It streamed into me. Rammed its way in my door and continued to thrust and fill every centimetre of space. Coiling around corners, it seeked more fuel. Delved its fingers into my lower kitchen cupboards and pulled them open. All the items inside floated along and bobbled. Chairs were lifted and levitated on water. Anything touching the floor ascended onto the surface of the water. It kept coming.   

The family hadn’t slept for hours. Aida and Harry had debated whether to stay or go. It was unprecedented. They didn’t know what to do. How to act. They peered downstairs at the rising water.  

A power cut followed. It was the last straw. 

In a flash, they all packed their belongings with torches beaming through the dark. Sabrina’s hands wouldn’t cease shaking. She was shivering. Not from the cold. Anxiety was creeping up and in. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before. 

Harry carried Sabrina on his back, down the stairs, tramping through the depths of water. To the car in the garage. Knee deep in liquid. Aida followed with bags of belongings. Her knuckles milky white. Her breathing thin and threaded. 

Sabrina remained in the car as her parents shunted the garage door open. Brawny waves blasted in. They quickly hoisted themselves onto the car bonnet. Harry and Aida fought them off as best they could. Their car doors clapped shut. Key pushed into the ignition. The engine wouldn’t start. The water had risen too high. Harry’s head and chest were pulsing. Waves of water punched the wheels of the car.  

Harry jostled the car door open. An timeworn kayak was pulled out from its garage shelf. They all bundled in. Eventually propelled their way into the distance, to safety.  

My family was gone. But the rain was still ravenous. The water scaled the walls, lashing its way up the staircase. I willed it to stop, but was powerless to its potency. Mother Nature was feral, ferocious, unfathomable. 

Waves stomped until an hour before dawn. Then, like a switch had flicked, the pressure eased. Water slothfully bleeding out the front door it had flung open. Retreating, sulking. 

The darkness blanched into light. The dawn revealed my ruins. Just like the other sunken homes around me. They were all empty now too. Evacuated. 

My walls were weak from the water. My bones brittle. On the verge of breaking. Remnants of cracked furniture and debris clunked around. Harry’s studio was a messy whirl of pieces. The mural he had painted with Sabrina still remained. Now with a bed of water beneath. The rug at the front door was soaked, wet like marsh. 

Sabrina’s time capsule had extracted itself from the hiding place. It was now in plain sight, out in the pond-like garden. The pressure of the water had opened it up and spread the contents disrespectfully. The pencil-written words on her letter almost erased. 

Everything smelled damp. Deep creaks belched from my corners. Trickles of water and droplets gurgled inside. Like indigestion. 

Time shifted, on and on. Many people came and went. Examined me, studied me, stickered me. The last time my family saw me, I was covered with red tape. Uninhabitable. They weren’t allowed to get close. They stood on the street and quietly shed tears. They had become a piece of me. Now seeping away. But I already knew that the world was an ever changing thing, in ways I could never foresee. Yet I was thankful for the time we shared, fleeting as it felt. I was there for a time, and that time was something. 

The cluster of those like me, were all saying their goodbyes. As their people shifted away, it became more and more hushed. The sun set, sinking down my kitchen doorway, where Sabrina’s heights were marked. Shrinking lower and lower. 

Those like me, had once been assembled. Now, had fallen back into pieces. 

Not much was left of us, though we had each other, a collective of parts. We were without humans, but not alone. That was enough to hold up our spirits.