Storytime: In the Attic (Part 1)

The following will be a multi-part series from a book of short stories I wrote a long time ago. I shall record these stories exactly as they are written with no editing.

Preface

In 2003, I took a creative writing class in high school. I was 16 years old, and I remember this was a time where writing was a big part of my life. (Funny how things just come back around and around, isn't it?) The class had a year-long project where we were to write something like a memoire of short stories. Being the overachiever I am, I printed out each story and made a little book out of them. I have had this book in my library ever since that class, though it has been years since I looked at them.

Let's look at them together.

Many of the stories are of true events with some embellishments and a bit of creative license. All names will be changed to protect the privacy of the individuals mentioned.

Without further ado, let's adventure into my 16 year-old self via our book pensieve. Here is In the Attic.

The Palace of Fleas

The lock clicks open. Judy tugs at the key, jiggles it, and turns it around until the key finally pops out. "Now, when we get inside I need you to help find me find the cat food," she says.

"Okay!" I reply brightly. We step over the threshold. Suddenly, an army of tiny black specks assaults my ankles. "Ah!" my brother and I screech at once. Instantly, we pull up the hems of our pants; the specks pepper our skin as if we are being prepared for a feast. We strut around like disgruntled turkeys kicking in every direction and whimpering. The cat watches nearby.

"The sooner we do this, the sooner we leave," Judy states as she strides over to the kitchen. Nathan and I follow, still doing our strange dance.

From the floor, I hear a million tiny voices. "Secure the catapults! Call for reinforcements!"

"Aye, sir!" A tribal call echoes from my shin. The cat saunters by and looks up at me with apathy. I reach down and scrabble at my legs as more fleas cling to my skin. Slowly the cat meanders away. "VICTORY!" the fleas shout, and they infect my hands in their bloodlust.

"Sucks for you..." the cat meows languidly. His tail swishes as he leaps back onto the piano to laugh at my helplessness.

"Help me you stupid cat!"

"I think not... You're much too amusing to watch."

"Stupid cat..."

"Okay, let's go," Judy says. She appears around the corner suddenly, and I jump in surprise.

"Thank God," Nathan mutters. We scramble out of that house, slapping our hands on our shins until the skin is red and our palms sting. Distantly, I hear the fleas wailing in grief.

Slowly I turn my back of the palace of fleas.

---

I hope you enjoyed that! I didn't enjoy experiencing it. My grandmother's neighbor's house as a child was infested with fleas, and one week they went on vacation. We had no idea the infestation was that bad until we walked in the door.

I thank you for your time. Adiamas.

--Kyriel