Haunted House

The stench of decaying matter lingered at the tip of my button nose. My little fingers clutched my hoodie, pulling it over my already-shut eyes. Yet, it didn’t hinder the indoctrinating music –a symphony of screeching piano noises and screams – and the adrenaline that was supposed to be a trill that many enjoyed surged through my veins like poison. I squeezed Jasmine’s hand, cradling her frail body in my arms, as we swerved through pillars of make belief corpses, dreading the haunted house, wondering when our bewildered assumed maturity will ever do us any good.