Stairway into the light

Someone had brought her here, two people.

She remembered only vaguely.

They had been found her on the street, absolutely filthy, beaten, in a fever.

The house was old and winding. No floor straight, low ceilings wrong.

You got vertigo in such houses.

She had old houses often used as a shelter. If they were to leave. Without windows. Without doors, without water and all that.

Since she had fled from the home, where she was treated like a child.

Just because she did not speak -

This house was still inhabited.

The old woman was good to her. Drink gave her and eating and had supplied their wounds.

She did not ask and did not call the police.

There seemed to be no problem that she could not speak.

It was very peaceful here. The noise of the city was far away.

Under noise, sharp sunlight and many impulses she had suffered greatly during the time as she was living homeless.

Now she had finally a roof over her head. A warm blanket, a soft bed - so long as she knew no longer -

She tried to get up. With pain, still.

But she went a bit round in the room.

The woman seemed to be absent. Not a sound in the house. Nowhere.

She opened the door to the corridor.

Then she saw the stairs.

And she realized that the way down can also lead into the light.

Written for Wednesday Wits and Wisdom

Shared with Monday WRites, Thursday Little Things , NF Catching light