Corrupt: A Narrative Fiction

Although I had promised myself to never open and write in this book again, I can’t help but feel that today’s events should be recorded in here so I can set them away from my mind. If the memories are remembered in here, I wouldn’t to hold remember them in my mind.
I had just come back home after a long day of planting and tending the land. I placed my rifle down beside the fireplace as I was welcomed in by the wave of warmth, a distinct contrast from the merciless chill outside. I am constantly reminded to hope for a good summer as my cheeks persistently sting from the bitter winds. The winds had grown and its powers could now take my breath miles away, spear through my coat and prickle my skin, sinking down to my very bones. Slowly, I pulled the door closed behind me, but the tingling of my hands and their lack of color debilitated my grip. The door, decorated with dark patches of mold, groaned at the hinges; sleet ticked the pane of the window from the drizzle at noon. The wooden table set I’d …show more content…
Its perishing decorations and numerous cracks along the matte-shine of the handle gave a clear indication of its years. Like its owner, the pot may have been petite in stature but was definitely not incompetent. Inside the pot, the slow-cooked ingredients identified itself as Elizabeth’s rabbit soup. A glance was enough to discover the piquant combination of small diced fresh vegetables from the farm. The faint grey lining along the rim of the pot, the result of the absence of portions of the soup, reminded me of the late time of my return. It was then that I noticed a sweet lullaby, one that was ever so quiet, from the room upstairs. The familiar voice had belonged to Elizabeth. It was the song she’d sung to the children since they were only babies. The melody was strung perfectly in sync with the flickering flame and the fire so flawlessly repeated the music. Yet, I failed to feel any