My shoes make a quiet sound every time they hit the old, cracked concrete path I walk on. I twist my lips in annoyance as the overgrown grass hits my ankles now and then causing them to itch. The ghost-gray mist blankets the ground creating a haziness over the dead grass and weeds.

The sky above me is dim and gloomy as clouds consume the sun's rays. I tighten the red zip-up jacket around me as I continue to walk. Trees surround the open field along with old houses. One is my childhood home.

I didn't have the guts to go back in. At least, not when my parent's memorial is happening. The family had decided to have it in the place they were happiest in. Which is funny, because they made that house my nightmare. The constant screaming and slamming of doors. The holes that sat in the walls that were so old the wallpaper had started to peel off. The broken doors that were kicked in and never got fixed.

I shiver as a slow breeze blows. The tops of trees sway in the distance and I sigh at the tranquility. My parents loved each other, but they were tragic. They loved each other, but not enough to leave. Not enough to save me from seeing the brokenness that seeped through their own lives and eventually bleed into mine. I hate them for raising me in that environment. Yet I love them because they are my parents.

Were. They were my parents.

Even now, I can't let them go. I haven't spoken to them in years. I haven't been back to this house in almost a decade. Which is funny, because I still feel trapped here. Trapped in that house. Trapped hearing the screaming and fighting. Therapy hasn't helped. One therapist suggested I come back but that was years ago and I never did.

I'm here now though.

The sky has become darker and the mist has amplified causing an eerie feeling to settle over me. This place has always felt weird. I catch a glimpse of someone out of the corner of my eye when I near the house.

She had long dark hair, braided into a crown around her small head. Her bleak pale skin blended into the mist. It was me. I was sitting on the small concrete pathway humming to myself as I scribbled on the ground with chalk. I looked to be around eight. I remember this day. It was when one of the worst arguments happened. Mom and Dad got into another fight and he threw a glass vase at her. I ran inside and found her on the ground bleeding with him bent down at her side profusely apologizing.

I walk closer and a small stick from one of the trees must have fallen onto the pathway because I hear a crunch come from under my foot. The little girl's head shoots up and she stares me down before smiling gently.

"It's okay," she said. Pushing off the ground with her hands and then dusted off the dirt that had collected on her long blue skirt. The white blouse was stained with blood but it didn't seem to bother her. "You can let go now."

I was too stunned to speak back for a moment. I stood still, letting the breeze blow my hair behind me. Blowing open the unzipped jacket that I had wrapped around me earlier. My arms dangled at my side and I processed what she said. I looked down for a second before lifting my head back up but the little girl had already walked off. She walked further and further into the field opposite to the house till the mist became too thick and she disappeared.

I go to follow in her path but Aunt Sheril's heels clicked on the rotted wood of the porch as she walked out of the door and over towards me. "Are you coming back inside?"

I nodded wordlessly and followed her back into the house, but not before taking a quick look towards the field where the girl disappeared. I now stand in front of the antique vases that hold my parents' ashes feeling a little lighter. Letting go of the trauma this house has brought me. That they raised me in. Finding forgiveness. Allowing the small child that still exists in me to be healed.