Years ticked by after that moment, and I grew stronger while my Grandma grew weaker. However, despite all those years, I still visited her house often.

It had just been another one of those days. I had finished work and driven to her house, but as I stood outside her front door, something felt different, but I had no idea why. My fist hovered inches from the weathered wood, twitching slightly, almost hesitant, before proceeding to knock on the door.

Usually I could hear the shuffling of my Grandma’s feet down the creaky hallway, or the occasional shout, but today there was only silence. Maybe she was asleep? I knocked again. This time the knock echoed in my mind, amplified by the eerie quiet. The stillness crawled up my skin, and I began to feel alone and afraid.

My heartbeat quickened, as I began to pound on the door, calling out my Grandma’s name in between knocks, but the only response I received was the silence that screamed in my ears. Panic surged through me, as I hastily reached for the doorknob. It was unlocked, and I wrenched the door open.

A brisk breeze greeted me at the door, as I stared down the all too familiar hallway. I called out my Grandma’s name once more, but to no response. I stood there, petrified, as I decided what I should do. I began to search the house, hoping with every fibre of my body that she was safe. But I was still terrified at what I might find.

As I strode past, I turned my head to quickly look into the living room. But it was empty, except for the cluttered furniture that filled the tight space. There were far more worn lounge chairs than necessary, and quite some many side tables, all facing the same old-fashioned television.

As I marched down the hallway toward the kitchen, I stopped abruptly. My breath caught in my throat. I had seen it through the corner of my eye, but I knew it couldn’t be possible. I was still facing the direction of the kitchen, as I began to step backwards, without daring to turn my head.

I could hear my breath coming in and out in sharp movements, and in that moment, I felt as if it was the only thing keeping me from collapsing. Dread engulfed me, but I knew that I had no choice but to look. My heart beats felt unsteady, and a lump had developed in my throat. I gulped it down, preparing myself for what I may find, before turning my head.

There, standing in front of me, was an open door. I sucked in a quivering breath, for that wasn’t just any open door. It was a door, that for my entire lifetime at least, had never been opened before. And now it stood, hanging loosely on its hinges, as if now that it had been opened, it would never close again.

The memory of the day I had first seen it was sharp in my mind. I remember my excitement at potentially discovering the room’s contents. But now when I finally had the opportunity to find out, I felt like running away, leaving the truth far behind me, but my eternal love for my Grandmother was far more powerful than the fear that gripped me in that moment.

I took a step forward, my legs shaking unstably, as my eyes strained to see within the door, without having to walk closer. But all I could see was complete darkness, which camouflaged anything its midst.

I gathered up any courage I had in me, and stepped forward, as my body shook uncontrollably. I had reached the doorway. Despite the darkness, I saw a shape. It was smothered in black, blending in with the dark that covered the rest of the room, making it impossible to tell where the room actually ended. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, the shape appeared deformed, almost crumpled.

Curiosity overwhelmed me, and I stepped toward the figure. My breath hitched in my throat. I felt my own heart splinter into two. The entire outside world was completely muted, as cold tears streamed down my cheeks with grief. The blackness in the room blurred, making the shape undistinguishable. I felt my knees slowly fall to the cold, stone ground, and the noise echoed distantly in my mind. And I knew in that moment, that curiosity hadn’t just killed the cat.

As a young child, I spent much of my time at my Grandma’s house while my parents worked. I used to always explore new and unfamiliar places, trying to discover the secrets they held within. But maybe that was my greatest flaw. After all, curiosity killed the cat.

I remember the day when I had found it. After wandering around my Grandma’s house for what seemed like the first time, I had stumbled across a door. The other rooms in the house radiated warmth and welcome, but this door, unlike all the rest, seemed cold and out of place. It wasn’t anything about the door physically. It looked just like all the rest, with its slightly chipped white paint and dull silver doorknob. However, there was something about the way it stood there, firmly shut, as if cautioning anyone nearby not to disturb its presence. But I didn’t listen to its caution.

I stepped closer to the door, and the air around me seemed to drop in temperature as the sun went behind the clouds, as if too afraid to watch. I usually felt exhilarated while exploring, but as the distance between my hand and the doorknob lessened, I felt almost afraid of what I might find. But there was nothing terrifying about a door. Or so I had thought.

A shiver was sent up my arm when I touched the doorknob. The metal was cold in my sweaty palm, and I clutched on it tightly as I tried to turn it, without any success. It seemed stiffly cemented in place, as if it had become familiar with being unopened. Just as I placed my hand back on the handle and attempted to turn it, this time with more strength, I heard a voice from behind me.

“Stop!” It shouted abruptly through the suspense. I swung my head around to see the source of the voice. And there, standing only metres away from me, was my Grandma, who seemed extremely flustered by the scene that laid before her. I removed my hand from the door handle, with the impression that I was somehow in the wrong by just being here. I stepped away from the door and looked at my Grandma, who was completely speechless with shock, as if this was the last thing she expected to see when she walked down the hallway.

Her eyes scanned the door, as if to ensure that I hadn’t managed to open it while I was left unattended. She turned to face me, eyes wide. But where I expected to see anger. I saw something else. I think it was fear.

Her voice was adamant, yet slightly shaking, as she told me never to go near that door again, and despite being intrigued, I had a feeling that I shouldn’t question it. I think it had been her frightened eyes, which were round with alarm, that pleaded me to listen to their warning. I nodded and my eyes fell the floor. At the time, I had been disappointed that I hadn’t discovered what dwelled behind that door.

My Grandma let out a quiet sigh of relief, as if she had narrowly avoided a disaster. “Come on.”, she mumbled, before placing a hand tentatively on my back and leading me down the hallway toward the kitchen. But while she was distracted, I snuck a glimpse back at the door, as if expecting something to have changed, but it just stood there, tightly locked in place.

My Grandma didn’t leave my side for the rest of the day, until finally, my parents arrived to take me home. When I was about to leave, my Grandma lent down to give me a hug, but it didn’t feel as warm as it usually did. I could tell that despite the smile, she was somewhere else entirely. Her eyes seemed slightly glazed over, as if her mind was distant, far from the what was occurring in reality.

I sat, perched on a high tree branch, surveying the horizon. My stomach was satisfied with my night spent hunting, and I watched as the dark night sky lighten ever so slightly, signalling the coming of dawn.

A soft hoot exited my beck, as a I felt a sudden wave of fatigue. My moon-like eyes watered somewhat, and my heavy eyelids began to droop with the weight.

Sometimes I wondered what the world looked like during the day. Was it just brighter, or did the whole world transform, teeming with life? I longed to find out, but every time I got close, my mind almost seemed to fight against the idea, making me too tired to keep my eyes open. It was as if nature was ensuring that I never saw the world during the day. Maybe the answers were meant to remain a mystery to me.

My white feathers were lightly ruffled as a brisk, early morning breeze whisked through the air. The sun broke through the dawn, providing enough light for my squinting eyes to close entirely. And as much as I wished to see what life was like during the day, I knew that I didn’t belong.

I unraveled my wings from my body, and stretched them slightly, before taking off into flight. My strong wings swooped through dawn, pushing the chilly air behind me. I soared toward the comfortable place that I called my home, where I would nestle down for the day, in preparation for dusk, when I would no doubt still be questioning just what occurred under the light of the sun.

It was the worst kind of day to be lost and alone on a mountain. I sat with my back against the stone wall and surveyed the scene below, as the rock’s rigid edges stabbed at my skin. The wall of the cave was arched, providing me with just enough room to sit without being peltered by the pouring rain. The howling wind swept through the canopies below me, disturbing the over-grown terrain and everything else that lurks within it. Including me.

At least there will be plenty of water to drink, I thought, as I reminded myself of the desert that was my mouth. My throat felt as rough as the cave wall behind me, and I winced as I swallowed the little saliva that occupied my mouth. My voice was most likely hoarse and rasping from lack of hydration. Not that I have tried speaking. It’s not as if I have anyone to talk to.

As the storm thrashed through the forest, I pulled out the one thing I had with me from the outside world. I reached into the pocket of my jacket, and my eyes met my own, as a looked down at a photograph of my family. The photo was dirty and tattered, much like me from days out here. A faint smiled reached my lips, as I thought of the ones I loved and missed the most.

The photograph had only been freshy taken before I arrived here, and my eyes brushed over the picture of my kids, husband and I, as if expecting the photo to become reality. Their faces, including my own, were beaming with joy, completely oblivious to what would occur that very same week. Water ran down my cheeks, but it was salty unlike the rain. And in that very moment, I wished more than anything to be rescued from this nightmare.

My heart that was once filled with love, Is now empty with loss.

A smile that once brought a smile to my own lips, Now brings tears to my eyes at its loss.

A voice that once soothed me, Now makes my own voice crack at its loss.

A laugh that once made the rest of the world melt away, Now makes the world swallow me up at its loss.

My heart that was once filled with love, Is now empty with loss.

The photographs weighed heavy in my hands, as my eyes brushed over the pictures I had taken on my travels across the globe. They reminded me of places so magnificent that it was almost too easy to capture their beauty in a single snapshot. There were buildings with so much history in their walls, that they were held together simply by the stories woven between their bricks, and mountains, which looked like great waves that had been preserved by time itself. As I observed a photo of a Canadian forest that appeared untouched by the rest of the world, I noticed something hidden amongst the branches. There, standing in the space between two distant trees, was a man, facing the direction of my camera. He wore a black raincoat, which draped loosely until it reached his knees, and jeans, which were ripped, but not by design. I brought the photo closer to my eyes in an attempt to see the figure’s face, but it was concealed by a tree’s branches. I was stunned that I hadn’t seen the man while taking the photo, but decided that it enhanced the image somehow. I proceeded to turn to the next photograph, smiling slightly at the memory of the serene public garden I had visited while in Japan. And that’s when I saw it. My heart paused in its beating, as my whole body went rigid with shock, and I sat there almost as still as the photograph itself. My eyes had arrived at the pond. In the once transparent ripples, I saw a reflection, like an abstract painting in the moving water. I followed the reflection from it’s head to it’s toe, until the portrait met its creator. There he was. Torn jeans, a flowing raincoat, and a face obscured by a rock sculpture nearby. How could this be possible? How could he have been in Canada, and now in Japan, at the same time and place as I was? And how hadn’t I noticed him until just now? As my mind whirled, I stared at the person. He looked so strange and secretive, and yet, there was something oddly familiar about him, as if somewhere, I had seen him before, but not just in a photograph. A chill shivered down my skin, as a eerie silence settled around me. My fingers dented the photo, as they shook uncontrollably. I took a deep, yet quivering, breath, before allowing my eyes to reach the next photo. My gasp caught in my throat as I tossed the photographs onto the table in haste. I could feel the blood draining out of my face, and I stared in pure fear at my trembling hands, as if still looking at the photo. My lungs filled and emptied in short, quick breaths, as it became more and more difficult to breathe. My eyes darted around the room as I clutched at my chest. It was as if I had seen a ghost. But that’s because I had. For, there, staring at me from behind a graffitied building in a black raincoat and ripped jeans, was my deceased brother.

The scream pierced through the still night air, and I jolted awake, just as the sound tapered into silence. The sudden quiet echoed in my ears as I sat upright in bed, the blankets laying tangled around me at the abrupt disturbance. I stared into the darkness of my room, eyes wide, trying to convince myself that what I heard was just a figment of my imagination. I could hear my heart pounding, and my hand shook every so slightly as I reached to turn the lamp on. I strained my ears, but couldn’t hear anything from downstairs, and in my dimly lit bedroom, I told myself that it had just been a nightmare. And that’s when I heard it. The wooden stairs leading to room creaked under the weight of the footsteps. I jumped out from under the blankets, with my feet landing on the soft carpeted floor. I attempted to control my breathing as panic rippled through me. My heart was beating loud enough for the whole neighbourhood to hear, as I scrambled to think I what to do. As the footsteps came closer up the stairs, I unplugged the lamp and clutched it in my shaking arms. As the light gradually emptied out of my room, I silently backed into the corner. Thoughts rushed through my mind. Who was that coming up the stairs? Why were they even here? What am I going to do when they reach my door? I still couldn’t believe what was happening, and I noticed that I was holding onto my breath. I let out an exhale and tried to prepare myself, just as the footsteps came to their destination. The intruder was standing just outside my bedroom door. The handle slowly ticked as it turned over, and the door creaked open slightly, allowing light to filter into the dark room. It swung open, and I blinked as my eyes adjusted. The open doorway cast light into the corner in which I was standing, illuminating my fear. There, standing motionless in the doorway, was a silhouette of figure. It’s features where shrouded in shadow from the light shining behind it, making it unrecognisable. It stood there in silence, before taking a step toward where I stood, and then another. I pressed myself up against the wall, grasping the lamp in preparation to swing, as the figure advanced toward me, slivering like a snake. My voice caught in my throat in an attempt to scream. And that’s when I saw them. Those eyes. I will never forget those eyes. Dark and cold just like that very night.

                                *

“And that’s when everything around me disappeared from view.” My Nana told me blankly, as if far away. That was the end of the story.

How can something be so whole, so complete, and yet shatter in a heart beat? Splintering into thousands of pieces with some so small and insignificant that they will never be found again. Those pieces, which had once shaped you, will be gone forever, never to be recovered. And all it takes is one moment, one regretted action, to lose pieces of yourself and never be whole again. And although you can be mended, making the fractures invisible to the eye, they still run deep inside you, as a reminder of what was lost. Nothing is truly permanent, but through all the pain and the loss, you realise that all that really matters is whether you have the courage to pick up the pieces.