Ninth step

This chapter contains triggering subjects. Reader discretion is advised.

      I was spinning, my hands held on cold iron bars and head tilted backwards, watching the cloudy morning sky. I was around seven years old, mindlessly playing in the merry-go-rounds while my dad watched me from a bench in the park. The playground was almost empty, the only sound spearing the air being the creak of the rusty hinges. Creak which got louder and louder almost making you believe the screws were crying. Then I realized it wasn't them who were crying. I could hear real sobs and sniffs coming from inside a playhouse. So I jumped from the still spinning merry-go-rounds