I walk to the window of my room, I find the set of keys that I had hidden on one of the curtain rings. I open the window and lean out and feel the soft, gentle breeze on my face. What a beautiful way to die...
My mother died like this, she leapt out of her bedroom window on a soft spring day. I kneel and say a prayer for her. Generally I am not a religious person but when it is the ten year anniversary of my mother's death, I am entitled to believe that she went somewhere better. I've believed that since she died when I was six and I still believe it when I'm well into my teenage years. After my prayer, I find a particular groove in the wooden floorboards and pull up. The floorboard comes loose and reveals a dark red jewellery box.
I open it and take out a small key on a chain. I admire the delicate silverwork and place it round my neck. It had belonged to my mother when she lived in this house. She'd told me that it was the key to a secret door that led down to the basement. When I was younger I would spend hours at a time searching for that door and never find it. In the end I had to settle with the fact that no door ever existed, that no basement ever existed. In the corner of the box is another smaller box with a keyhole. I use the set of keys to unlock it and gaze at the beautiful stone inside. The semi-precious stone is set in an intricately designed ring of gold. The stone is almost jet black but glints different colours in the light. I close the box lid and lock the ring inside. There are papers inside the jewellery box as well. They're letters from my father to my mother from when he was fighting in the war. Dead romantic but the saddest thing imaginable when he kept sending them after my mother had died. James and I would read them. We would always say that we would tell him in a letter but that we would let him down gently. We never did and when he came back he turned on me and James took his side. I ran, afraid I'd never get far enough from them. And I never did. My past and my family chased me and caught up with me. I was forced to stop running and face it; I faced it with a knife in one hand and a sword clenched in the other.
More papers lay underneath the letters and these were documents and certificates. Mine and James's birth certificates, mum's death certificate, dad's roll of honour and their marriage certificate. I am tempted to tear up James's birth certificate and act like he never existed but he will catch up with me again, and soon. I spend about ten to fifteen minutes looking back at all this stuff including the old family holiday photo album that was tucked away underneath the first box. As I'm packing everything away, I notice a small tear splashes onto the lid of the jewellery box. My cheeks are wet and I realise that I've been crying for my old life. I ease the floorboard down and get into bed. Within a few minutes, I'm drifting into dreamland.