We no longer speak of that time. The room itself is closed up, the furniture gone, the door closed and the key hidden away in a secret drawer in this desk that is, itself, never used.
We would turn, walk away from the house if we could. There are probably many who would buy it, turn it into something that makes it no longer a home, just that house where that thing happened once in one of its rooms. However, some things are beyond selling. Some things go beyond the physical. Money cannot buy some things. Money cannot help us forget, those of us who were there will remember and the house will remember too.
We tried to turn, to run, to leave, but there is nowhere left that is safe. Everyone knows you cannot escape yourself, no matter where you run. This house is as much us as we are it. It will be our home for as long as we live, for as long as the memory of what happened in that room lives.
I have decided that when I am the last of us left alive, the last thing I will do, before I too decide to die, is burn down this house, making sure that it is that room that is the first to burn.
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