The Disappearing Cottage

I study my father's yellowed map once more while sitting in his old armchair. I still miss him enormous amounts. But the crying phase is over.

If I could only figure out where I am... then, I could make it into the city. I could finally meet another person.

It's a wonder that I haven't gone mad. But the meadows keep me calm.

It's a waste of time, looking at this map. I know that the year mark will pass today, and I will have to start all over.

I place the map in between the pages of a book. I talk to the kitchen and find the large glass jug of water.

It was charmed by my mother. It has a never ending supply of water, drawn from a river we lived near when I was five. A filter in the bottom of the jug keeps it pure.

I take a long drink, as today is particularly hot. Then I carefully carry it outside to wash myself.

A fresh white dress hands from a clothesline. I strip off the dress I am wearing and place it in a tub under the line. Then I take a bar of homemade soap and cleanse my body.

The day is warm and the cold water is refreshing on my skin. I take my time bathing.

But it doesn't feel like to be exposed like this, even with the absence of people. After the warm sunlight dries the moisture from my skin, I quickly get dressed.

Instead of tending to my potted plants like usual, I head out to the front of my little cottage. I gather handfuls of blooming marigolds and create a bouquet. Something to remind me of this location.

I go back into the house and find a vase for the golden flowers. I am just rearranging them when I hear a frantic pounding on the door.

I don't know what to do. There hasn't been a visitor since I was nine. Who knows who this could be?

But it could be my parents, coming back for me. It could be some escape from this repetition.

I abandon the blossoms and open the door.