Wellington Street

In which we take a stroll down a very strange lane.

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Building 8 "Moving Day"

It has been several weeks since I submitted myself to a series of tests, with the hope of finding out what is wrong with me. For weeks I have been burdened by chronic migraines, which medicines seem unable to alleviate completely. I am tired no matter how much sleep I get, though the act of sleeping is difficult. I have been plagued by long periods of insomnia, and when I finally sleep, it is always accompanied by nightmares that I try hard not to remember. Above all is a terrible sense that I am being watched, and I have begun seeing a therapist in the hopes that they would at least be able to help deal with some of the issues without medicine.

The tests have finally come in, and the results are less than reassuring. As expected, my adrenaline levels, along with the levels of the various hormones involved in inducing REM sleep are all elevated. My MRI came back with “unusual” results, and I have a follow up appointment where the doctors involved should tell me what exactly that means. The blood tests and toxicology all came back normal save for the levels of certain chemicals, and the x rays revealed nothing. For now there does not seem to a clear physical reason for my state of being, which leaves me with the psychological. I am...not ready to take that step, and for now I have been given a new set of sleep aids, as well as anti anxiety medicines. They have refused to give me a stronger pain killer...they worry I will become dependent.

The only thing that seems to be help are my visits to Wellington Street, which usually results in the temporary reduction of my symptoms. With this in mind I have suggested the idea of moving to Wellington Street, and the doctors think that perhaps the change in my environment may help. Thankfully, a small place recently came onto the market, and in between my own income and the help of my family I managed to pull together enough money to secure a down payment. Before buying though I decided to do some investigating, since the price seemed low for such a nice home. It did not take a lot of investigating to find out why.

The home is modern in its design, utilizing long rectangular shapes of various shapes and sizes, with a deep brown, wood paneling. The building is quite different from the normal aesthetic of the neighborhood, and tends to stand out during the day, though it seems to blend in at night. In the history of the home there was only one owner, and it was only a year after they had moved in that the house went back up for sale.

The initial owners were a husband and wife, who had requisitioned the building of the home. The husband worked in real estate, while his wife was an archeologist and recently retired teacher. Little was known of the couple as they did little to interact with the local community, at least when it came to the husband. They had commissioned the building of the home months before they moved in, anticipating the birth of their first child. Their neighbors didn't seemed to have much love for the husband, but stated that the wife seemed friendly enough, and would often visit with one of them, asking them for parenting advice.

Paranoia - A short story

On The Grey Flag

The old lady was staring at her. She knew it.

Four months ago, Julia had married the love of her life. Her husband, Mike had just been named head curator at the art museum where he was working in. She was three months pregnant with a boy they would call Joey and after Joey is born she would quit that stressful writing job of hers to be a full-time housewife. Nothing could go wrong in her perfect life.

The day it arrived, Julia and Mike were busy unpacking their luggage from their trip to Venice when the doorbell rang. Julia ran out to get the door and when she opened it and looked down, there it was.

The package was encased by a bubble wrap, with an additional layer of plastic over it. At first glance it was about two feet tall and one foot wide. Julia carried it into the living room and unwrapped it. The rectangular wooden frame in the package was old, but kept in good condition. Flakes of the golden paint that coated it were coming off but it was still a beautiful frame, with very fine carvings of flowers at its corners. But Julia didn’t notice that, her eyes were fixed on the painting in the frame.

It was a portrait of an old lady who looked almost in her eighties. She had a sharp chin and high cheekbones and her pale skin was weathered and covered in wrinkles. The old lady’s graying hair was tied up in a bun and over it she wore a white bonnet. She had a hooked nose, almost too big for her face, with a sharp tip like the beak of a hawk. Below that nose she had very thin and dry lips. The edges of her mouth slanted slightly upward, giving her a smile that looked more like a smirk to Julia.

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