Wrong Story

Some stories don’t let you out. Some stories aren’t even yours, but you’re stuck in them anyway, circling through someone else’s damage. This one—this map—traces the heavy trails of domestic violence, the weight of it pressed into loops, pathways that lead back in on themselves. It’s not just memory, it’s architecture.
 
You can feel it in the way the energy holds. The thick, stuck heat of anger, of fear, of bodies moving through the same patterns—raised voices, slammed doors, the silence after. The way a house, a place, a history can hold all that, keep it running even after the people are gone. You think you’ve stepped out, but the lines bring you back.
 
There are doors, but they don’t always open. Some are just another way back inside, another trap, another excuse, another version of the same story. The wrong story. And yet, it keeps playing. Keeps remapping itself. Keeps catching people in its circuitry.
 
So the question is—what breaks the loop?
Not just for one person. Not just for one moment of escape. But for the system, for the energy, for the way the heat sits in a place long after the fire has gone out. If there’s a way through, it won’t be in straight lines. It won’t be in logic. It’ll be in knowing the system well enough to refuse it. In breaking it open from the inside. In shifting the weight of it until it can’t hold the same shape anymore.
 
And then? Maybe then, a door that leads somewhere new? Some only have loops back in and in and in again into this level of the story.