get me away from here, i'm dying

rockville lies thirteen miles southeast of gauthier county. thirteen miles of rolling pastures, oil wells, and grazing cattle.

right in the middle of this spanse stands the coolidge house, vacant now for a number of years.

the first time i stepped inside, as a frightened eleven-year-old, my mind raced. ghosts hid behind each door, around every corner, silently brushing past me in the dark.

standing in that plot today, watching the final supports tumble under the force of the bulldozer's push, my mind races. i imagine the spirits of the house flicking into the air, rising above the crumbled ruins. a ghostly smoke, ascending skyward.