The aroma of old paper filled her nose. It had been a long time since she had been in here and the dim corridor was how she remembered it as a child. She needed to find answers before it was too late. The Librarian gave her a firm lipped smile.
The micro-fiche machine whirred through the pages. The memory of the sign remained vivid in her mind with the neatly printed “TODAY LOT #200” and the white tape hiding something—she never found the sign again. After she came home that was all she could tell anyone. Therapists told her that her sub-conscience held back the other memories.
She stopped the machine at the Real Estate listings and skimmed across them, looking at the pictures of houses. She smiled. There it is. The memories forced themselves out. Such a pretty house, she had to see inside. The man that greeted her at the door allowed her to go room-to-room without him. The inside was pretty too, everything done perfectly like a dollhouse. It was perfect. She withdrew from the memory that finally returned her and looked at the address.
“Anywhere but here,” she thought, “such a dreadful neighborhood.”
Read all the entries at Cara Michael's "Defiantly Literate".