My skin prickled. Every hair stood on end, tugging my skin into bumps. I rubbed my arms as though to smooth away the tiny mounds and ease the memories.
“It looks rather sad, doesn’t it?” Griffin asked.
I sensed his gaze but I didn’t look at him. My eyes were glued to the old house. I nodded and swallowed down the sob that threatened to escape from my lips.
“We can go, if this is too much for you,” he whispered. His warm hand rested against my lower back. The pressure was comforting.
I faced him and forced a smile. “No,” I cleared my throat. “I’m okay.” I inhaled deeply and stepped closer. If I was ever going to be truly free I had to face my fears. It was bad enough that I had been imprisoned in that house; I wasn’t going to let my memories do the same.
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Flash fiction prompt provided by http://www.writerlycorner.com/writerly-prompts/writerly-wednesday-3162016
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