Frederick Place.

The walls in my house are much too thin.
And the floors in my house are much too rickety.

My alarm clock reads that it is ten twenty-eight p.m.
Which means it is actually ten eighteen p.m.
Usually by this time, my parents are sound asleep. But tonight is different.
When they walk, it sounds like they are a one-man stampede.
And I can hear every word they are saying.
...I don't usually notice these things. 
I've only realized this recently--this being how old my house is. I can't help but think about my future. The truth is, I never want to leave this house. I've lived in this red-bricked building my entire life and have claimed three out of five of the rooms in this house my bedroom. Now I have my favorite room.

My bedroom is probably the smallest in the house. It's in the basement, in the very back corner on the right side (if you were looking at it head on.) I have silly posters and shrines everywhere. My bookcase is my favorite though. I've never given much thought to it, but that bookcase holds a lot of my memories...some that I hate, and some that I love.
I have no windows. Well, I do, but I wouldn't call them windows since they are covered by the ivy that has grown out of control from my mother's garden. I know it's weird, but I often wonder how I will escape if my house were to burst into flames, because my 'windows' are ridiculously small. It just so happens that my bedroom is the closest to the furnace, too. So, if that were to explode, I would surely die by fire....which I'm hoping doesn't happen, because I do hope for a future. A very pleasant one.
...But what I can't quite figure out about my windows, is that even though they are covered, I can always tell when the moon is full. The moonlight shines into my room just the right amount to keep me awake...

But, the truth is, I'm scared to grow up. Scared to leave this house, my warm bedroom, and it's remnants. I think I'm scared I'll lose the memories, or the warmth I feel. Or its safety.

Home sweet home.