Something in the Walls

by Daisy Pearce

“In real life you just want someone who can remember to descale the kettle, pet,” she said, giving me a knowing look. “If you want excitement, take up skydiving.”

That’s how Horace, the man who led the group, referred to grief. Sometimes small and quiet and shallow, sometimes a tsunami, cold and frightening. But inevitable, just like the tide.

grief gets heavier the longer you carry it alone is one that has helped me.

Sometimes I wonder how our many-chambered hearts can stand the loss all these years, why it doesn’t simply stop beating. I wonder how the grief can still twist inside you like a stitch in your side when you least expect it.

willingness to look adults in the eye without fear of their scrutiny. It’s slightly disturbing.

“She watches me through the cracks in the bricks. She’s in there now. That’s why we can’t talk about this.”

The top half of her face barely changes, her eyes hard and flat and utterly empty. The smile doesn’t touch them. It just stretches the skin. I feel something cold tighten around my spine.

“Because you can’t predict what fear will do to people. You don’t know which way it will send ’em.

ground, and an ominous, frightened feeling lights up in me like a match head.

“It’s tradition, Mina. You can’t outlast it. Best you can do is outrun it.”