Seeing Things
1396 Words
Amelia woke slowly the next morning, the pale light of Saturday filtering through the thin gap in her curtains. For a few seconds she lay still, staring at the ceiling, trying to place the strange feeling sitting in her chest.
It took her a moment to realise what it was.
Nothing.
No small feet running down the hallway. No cartoons already blaring from the TV. No one calling her name from the kitchen asking where their shoes were or what was for breakfast.
Just quiet.
She rolled onto her side and checked the time on her phone. Still early. Earlier than she usually got up on a weekend, but the house felt too still for her to fall back asleep.
“What do people even do on Saturdays?” she muttered to herself.
The thought almost made her laugh. Most people her age would probably already have plans — shopping, sports, hanging out with friends, sleeping half the day away. Amelia pushed herself out of bed and wandered into the kitchen, grabbing a mug and filling it with coffee.
She carried it outside and sat on the back step, tucking her legs underneath her as the cool morning air brushed against her skin.
The backyard looked bigger when it was quiet. The grass moved gently in the breeze, and somewhere a bird chirped lazily from the fence. Amelia wrapped both hands around the warm mug and stared out at the yard, letting the quiet settle around her.
For once, no one needed her.
The thought should have felt freeing.
Instead it felt… unfamiliar.
Her mind drifted through possibilities for the day. She could watch TV. Go into town. Clean. Do homework. Call someone.
None of it sounded particularly appealing.
Her eyes eventually wandered back through the open kitchen door toward the hallway that led to her room. Toward the stack of canvases leaning against the wall.
Painting.
The idea settled into place almost instantly.
Amelia finished the last sip of her coffee and stood up, already feeling a faint spark of focus returning to her chest. She headed back inside and pulled out her art supplies, spreading them across the floor of her room the way she always did — brushes, paints, rags, water jar.
The blank canvas sat in front of her, waiting.
For a moment she hesitated, brush hovering over the surface. Her mind drifted back to the portfolio theme her teacher had given them.
Emotion.
She dipped the brush into dark paint without thinking too much about it.
The image began to form slowly. First the outline of a girl — hunched slightly, shoulders drawn inward. Then her arms raised, hands pressed tightly over her ears like she was trying to block something out.
Amelia worked quietly, the world shrinking down to the movement of the brush.
Around the girl, she painted long dark shapes that twisted and looped around her body. At first they looked like loose lines, but as the image deepened they began to resemble something heavier.
Rope.
Chains.
Something tightening.
They wrapped around the girl’s arms, her shoulders, her chest — not violently, but persistently, like something that had been pulling tighter for a long time.
The girl’s face stayed mostly hidden behind her hands.
But the tension in her posture said enough.
Amelia leaned back slightly, studying the canvas.
The ropes looked almost alive, curling around the figure like the physical shape of thoughts — worries pressing inward, louder and louder until the girl had no choice but to cover her ears.
She felt a small chill run through her chest.
It was darker than she’d planned.
Darker than most of the things she usually painted.
For a moment Amelia just stared at it, her fingers resting loosely around the brush.
Then she glanced toward the window, where the quiet morning light was still filtering into the room.
“Guess that answers the emotion question,” she murmured to herself.
After a while, Amelia rinsed her brush and set it carefully on the edge of the jar. The painting sat propped against her desk, the girl on the canvas still clutching her ears as the dark ropes wound tighter around her shoulders.
She studied it for a moment longer, a faint heaviness settling in her chest.
The quiet in the house had started to feel less peaceful and more… loud.
Too much room for thoughts.
Amelia pushed herself up from the floor and stretched. Maybe sitting inside all day wasn’t the best idea. She grabbed her hoodie from the back of the chair and slipped on her shoes.
“A walk,” she said to the empty room. “That’s normal. People do that.”
The neighbourhood was calm as she stepped outside. The air carried the soft warmth of late morning, and the streets were dotted with the usual weekend activity—someone washing their car, a dog barking behind a fence, kids riding bikes in uneven circles.
Amelia walked slowly at first, her hands tucked into the sleeves of her hoodie. She didn’t have a destination in mind until her feet automatically guided her toward a familiar street.
The park.
She hadn’t been there in years.
When she was little, her dad used to take her there on weekends. Before everything changed. Back when the afternoons had felt simple.
The swings were still there when she reached the playground, creaking slightly in the breeze. The grass looked a little patchier than she remembered, and the paint on the slide had faded, but the place felt strangely unchanged.
Amelia walked over and sat down on one of the swings, pushing off the ground gently with her feet. The chains clinked softly as she rocked back and forth.
Families came and went around her.
A little girl ran past with a bubble wand, shrieking with laughter while her mum chased after her. A dad lifted a toddler up the steps to the slide while pretending it was a rocket ship. A group of boys kicked a soccer ball across the grass, their voices loud and careless.
Amelia watched them quietly.
Each scene seemed so… easy.
Like everyone knew where they belonged.
The swing slowed until her feet dragged against the dirt.
A familiar heaviness crept into her chest, settling deep in her ribs.
Why wasn’t she enough?
The thought slipped in without warning.
She tried to shake it off, but it clung stubbornly to the back of her mind. She did everything she was supposed to. Looked after the twins. Helped with homework. Cooked dinners when her dad was working late. Tried to be a good friend. A good daughter.
So why did it always feel like she was standing just outside of something everyone else understood?
Her eyes followed another family crossing the grass — a mum holding one child’s hand while the other ran ahead laughing.
Something twisted painfully in her chest.
Amelia looked down at the dirt beneath her shoes, pushing the swing forward again just enough to keep it moving.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of movement near the edge of the playground.
A girl standing by the fence.
Long hair. A familiar posture.
For a split second, Amelia’s brain supplied the name automatically.
Lola.
Her head snapped up.
But when she turned to look properly, the space near the fence was empty.
Just the rustling branches of a tree and the quiet sidewalk beyond it.
Amelia frowned slightly, scanning the park again. A couple of parents sat on a bench nearby. A stroller rolled past on the path.
No Lola.
She let out a slow breath, rubbing the back of her neck.
“Too much time alone,” she murmured to herself.
The swing had stopped moving completely now.
After another minute, Amelia pushed herself up and brushed the dirt from her hands. The park suddenly felt different — less comforting than it had when she first arrived.
Quieter in the wrong way.
She shoved her hands into her hoodie pockets and started the walk back home, her steps a little faster this time.
By the time she reached the end of the street, she told herself firmly that she’d just imagined it.
After all, Lola hadn’t said anything about coming to the park.
And if she had been there… Amelia was sure she would’ve said something.
- Writer
