Empty House

The house felt still and dark as she moved around completing menial tasks.She straightened a table cloth, dusted off a lamp, wiped down a picture frame, all in a feeble attempt to stay busy. As she moved past the sofa, her hand hovered briefly over a small crumpled blanket that draped over the back. It was a once oft-occupied spot that now lay vacant except for a few stray hairs. She let her hand drop.

Darkness slowly crept into the room arching it's back before stretching out to its full length and kneeding it’s way into every nook and crany. She didn’t turn on the light. The light would only reveal the lingering emptiness, the reminder of what was missing.

She moved into the kitchen. The setting sun still peeked through the window, casting a fading orange light over the little room. Ghostly vibrissae stretched across the table cloth from the spiny leaves of the plan in the window sill. She got out a cup and saucer. She replaced the saucer and, moving to the refrigerator, poured a cup of milk. It was a nightly routine.

When finished, she immediately washed, dried, and put away her cup before she realized that it didn't matter anymore. Now there was no reason to worry about keeping dishes out of the sink. Her knotted and bent hands petted the dishcloth as she stared out the little window. She would have to turn on a light soon.

Grudgingly, she turned on a little table lamp in the sitting room. That would be all. In the darkness, her toe hit a small purple ball. It rolled a way, the little bell inside tinkling familiarily. Without washing up or putting on a night dress, she laid down in her bed and watched the ceiling fan turn slowly. A shadowy tail flicked across her vision as her windsock blew in the night and passed through the beam of a street light. At her age, she had learned that all things must come to an end. In truth, she knew her own would likely not be far off. But for now, she could remember. She drifted off to sleep with dreams of comfort and companionship.