For your pleasure, maybe lol, I present a very short story by my very self! I hope somebody will enjoy it. Oooooh, I am nervous!
*giggle*
Life of an empty house
There was darkness. A cool hush. A purple velvet night. There was a crescent moon. There was starlight from the uncertain stars that twinkled in the sky. The moon, stars, shone on the house by the road that stretched into forever.
Wild grass crowded around the house that stood old and alone. Hungry weeds climbed the side. The house was empty. The house was broken. Red roof tiles clung here and there. The wooden boards were cracked and warped. The drain pipe was rusty orange and home to beetles. They say, eyes are windows to the soul. The windows of this house where dark and cracked.
Inside was hollow. Dark. In the night wind, the boards creaked and they sighed. A mouse with tiny liquid eyes explored by the old stairs. Old dreams hung around of what was once and could never be again. Other times. People and things that had once filled these spaces. The mouse was ignorant of these things. It sniffed and scratched, hunting the beetles that ventured from the rusty drain pipe.
A dog slept. Legs kicking as it dreamed. The dog was brown and scrawny. The dogs chest slowly rose and fell as it breathed and dreamed. Dog dreams. The stairs still had carpet. It was old and faded and green. The stairs led to rooms.
One of the bedrooms was faded yellow. There was a hole in the floor. Some pigeons lived in the beams above the broken bed that lay like a rusted skeleton. It's bones spread across the corner, waiting to be buried.
The other room had peeling paper. Yellow and sallow as skin. This room also held the skeleton of a bed. This bed was bigger. There was a broken mirror in the room. A chest of draws. On top of the chest of draws, amid the dust, was an old photo of a woman. She had uncertain eyes, like the stars, and was smiling. A snapshot of a dream.
Morning came and with it the sunlight. The sun warmed the cold earth that held it to itself. The flowers looked toward the sky. The dog felt the first fingers of sunlight softly touch it's soft fur. The mouse and the beetles hid. Bright beams of sunlight punctured the darkness of the old house. The sun fell like angels though broken window panes and cracks in the roof. Dust motes hovered and span in pillars of light.
Birds woke and began to sing in the empty room upstairs. Soft and brittle bird songs filled the house. The dog, downstairs opened it's eyes and yawned. The dog pricked up it's ears and listened to the music of the birds.
The morning wove on. Dark clouds loomed in the blue oceans of the sky. Like angry islands. Thunder boomed and rolled across the landscape. Cars sped along the highway with windshield wipers wishing and whispering.
Dark spots of water marked parts of the floor in the old house that were open to heaven. The birds stopped singing. Perhaps they listened to the rain. Maybe the birds were to be inspired by the cold drops that pattered like tiny wet heart beats. Maybe next morning the birds song would echo the rain of before.
The light faded and fell with the sun. Darkness grew bolder and crept from the shadows. It abandoned it's hiding places and spread across the world. The dark of the night entered the house. The family of beetles crept out as the dog left.
The house sighed. And it waited.
The End.
*giggle*
Life of an empty house
There was darkness. A cool hush. A purple velvet night. There was a crescent moon. There was starlight from the uncertain stars that twinkled in the sky. The moon, stars, shone on the house by the road that stretched into forever.
Wild grass crowded around the house that stood old and alone. Hungry weeds climbed the side. The house was empty. The house was broken. Red roof tiles clung here and there. The wooden boards were cracked and warped. The drain pipe was rusty orange and home to beetles. They say, eyes are windows to the soul. The windows of this house where dark and cracked.
Inside was hollow. Dark. In the night wind, the boards creaked and they sighed. A mouse with tiny liquid eyes explored by the old stairs. Old dreams hung around of what was once and could never be again. Other times. People and things that had once filled these spaces. The mouse was ignorant of these things. It sniffed and scratched, hunting the beetles that ventured from the rusty drain pipe.
A dog slept. Legs kicking as it dreamed. The dog was brown and scrawny. The dogs chest slowly rose and fell as it breathed and dreamed. Dog dreams. The stairs still had carpet. It was old and faded and green. The stairs led to rooms.
One of the bedrooms was faded yellow. There was a hole in the floor. Some pigeons lived in the beams above the broken bed that lay like a rusted skeleton. It's bones spread across the corner, waiting to be buried.
The other room had peeling paper. Yellow and sallow as skin. This room also held the skeleton of a bed. This bed was bigger. There was a broken mirror in the room. A chest of draws. On top of the chest of draws, amid the dust, was an old photo of a woman. She had uncertain eyes, like the stars, and was smiling. A snapshot of a dream.
Morning came and with it the sunlight. The sun warmed the cold earth that held it to itself. The flowers looked toward the sky. The dog felt the first fingers of sunlight softly touch it's soft fur. The mouse and the beetles hid. Bright beams of sunlight punctured the darkness of the old house. The sun fell like angels though broken window panes and cracks in the roof. Dust motes hovered and span in pillars of light.
Birds woke and began to sing in the empty room upstairs. Soft and brittle bird songs filled the house. The dog, downstairs opened it's eyes and yawned. The dog pricked up it's ears and listened to the music of the birds.
The morning wove on. Dark clouds loomed in the blue oceans of the sky. Like angry islands. Thunder boomed and rolled across the landscape. Cars sped along the highway with windshield wipers wishing and whispering.
Dark spots of water marked parts of the floor in the old house that were open to heaven. The birds stopped singing. Perhaps they listened to the rain. Maybe the birds were to be inspired by the cold drops that pattered like tiny wet heart beats. Maybe next morning the birds song would echo the rain of before.
The light faded and fell with the sun. Darkness grew bolder and crept from the shadows. It abandoned it's hiding places and spread across the world. The dark of the night entered the house. The family of beetles crept out as the dog left.
The house sighed. And it waited.
The End.
