i awake on a mattress. i sit upwards, and look around. all of the walls are covered with graffiti. close friends names. to the east, there is a small marshall amp. leaning on the amp is a fender squier strat. i look towards the south, there is a closet with no doors, and a small desk. on the desk are documents. they are unreadable at this hour. to the west, there is the mattress and the window. and to the east is a chair. i look down to the carpet. it is stained and brown.
i walk out to my back yard. i look around, and it is cloudy. i am surrounded by oaks and elms, and they are all dead. all of the decaying remains are crumbling under my feet. there is a slight cold chill in the air.
the path is old and worn, but because of the age of it, no one has traveled down it in a while. it is narrow, and the trees are closely knit. i feel like my mind is free, and i can finally breathe. i feel like i am back home again, and they let me know that i am welcome here.
i come to a small creek, and it runs downhill into a small pond, with a levee. i cross over to the other side, and dabble the surface with a small stick. i see a fish swimming along, against the lazy current.
i continue across, and on to the levee. the trees are high, and so is the grass. there is a break in the trees where a drainage is connected to a smaller stream. i hear the pipe sucking water, and on the other side, i can hear it gurgle. i look along, and i see where fishermen sit during the summer. along the things i find, there is a small wooden bowl. it has its natural satin, with one red stripe across the rim of it.
it is a small rusted skeleton key. from the looks of it, it has sat out in the weather a while. it has the cutout on the head of it of a heart. it might belong to the boat house, or the cabin.