Far and Wide

Thirteen

I am an abandoned house.

My lips are the cracked walls of this home, begging for a fresh coat of paint. My skin the molded exterior. It crumbles so delicately, so beautifully. My eyes a now flickering welcome sign, bruised by the travelers who longed to stay but left once the lights went out. There are no visitors here any longer, the only voices are those of the ghosts, memories replaying never to cease.

I am an abandoned house

The kitchen smells of blueberry pancakes. Frank Sinatra singing is the only sound to be heard, interrupted by the sizzling of the griddle. The kitchen table covered in score counts of endless late night card games. Memories of the times we have won and lost. I close my eyes to take in this beautiful moment, when I open them you are gone. There are spiders in the cabinets now, the only breakfast to be had is the unlucky enough insect to be trapped in the monsters web. The table now in pieces on the ground.

I am an abandoned house.

The attic is locked now, harboring the darkest of monsters. Floor boards creak with every step he takes. He waits patiently for the sun to close her eyes, tucked in for a well earned night of rest. Only then will he slither out from the holes of the crumbling floor, armed with demons at his sides, ready to claim his sacrifice. I close my eyes and when I open them again he is gone. Tomorrow night he will try again to take back what he is sure is his to claim. His footprints burned into the molded carpet. His laugh forever carried in the wind through the shattered windows.

I am an abandoned house.