I approach a little yellow house on a hill.  
Grey storm clouds are seen forming above it.  
Their striking thunder sounds like a plea.  
It's as if they're begging me to let their drops touch my skin.  
But I'd rather not; I'm not ready to face the rain.  

 

The clouds rush towards me, and I run into the house, escaping them.  
Inside, I notice 6 little steps reaching above into a kitchen area.  
I take the first step, but my body pulls me back.  
“Don’t go,” my mind whispers.  
Ignoring the thought, I place my left foot forward and tread into the kitchen.  
 

The kitchen holds a pleasant feeling, similar to my home, but something's different.  
My chest automatically tightens, and my breathing is shallow.  
“Breathe…1…2…,” my mind whispers.  
My body seems not to listen, as if controlled by another.  
My ears pick up on every little noise and my body shakes uncontrollably.
What am I so afraid of?  
My mind tries its best to think, but it’s blank, not a thought in miles.  

 

I leave the kitchen and enter a small bedroom.  
The bed sheets are white, covered with tiny yellow flowers and smiley faces.  
The atmosphere in the room feels safer.  
“It’s all fake,” whispers my mind.  
I close the door in the room, and my breathing automatically regulates.  
A knock on the window turns my sight towards the grey clouds.  
They’re trying to make their way inside the home.  
As if it were habit, I shut the blinds and sat on the bed.  
My hand reaches toward a plush toy; it’s a blue little mushroom with a worn-out smile.  
The mushroom feels safe, and I immediately hug it.  

 

As I hug the mushroom, I hear steps walking toward the room.  
My heart drops.
“Run,” whispers my mind.  
“From who?” I scream.  
I turn towards the mirror in front of the bed and see my reflection; I am a child again.  
The steps I hear coming towards me are my father’s; I’m in his house.  
The knob jiggles, and I freeze in place; my mind fills up with fuzzy memories, but all I can focus on is the man behind the door.  
The door swings open, and my father greets me with a warm smile, “You're home?” he asks me.  
“This isn’t your home,” my mind whispers to me.  

 

I run towards the door, passing him and rushing down the six steps.  
I bolt through the front door, and I’m met with the grey storm cloud.  
“Please rain on me,” I cry.  
Instantly, rain pours over my skin, drenching my clothes and my mind.  
The memories of the past flood in fear followed by anxiety, worry, confusion, hopelessness, and sadness—I feel it all.  
“Finally, I’m free,” my mind whispers to me.  
Tears stream down my face; I allow them to flow into the river they always wished to be.  
With that, the river takes me far away from that house, far from my father's house on the hill.  
“Goodbye, fear,” I whisper to myself.