Abandoned In A Deserted Town

Sunlight filters through white fluffy clouds, beams reaching for dew-kissed blades of grass between an abandoned swing set and a faded jungle gym, sparking from chain links as swings sway, chased by a fugitive breeze. A carousel spins, the mournful whine of dry bearings singing a song of loneliness and neglect. The echoes of delighted screams and childish laughter swells and fades with the leaves scattered on the arms of the wind.

Waves curled with foam climb higher and higher on deserted beaches, wetting and drying, wetting and drying, bubbles popping up from buried clams. A broken umbrella tumbles along, scattering sand into the gusts. The edge of an abandoned towel flips up and down, up and down before it disappears into the grains it once rested upon. The ghosts of the uncounted drift over evaporating footprints.

Merchandise gathers dust inside stores closed tight, windows papered over with cobwebs as deserted mannequins stare, fading slowly into expressionless shapes, frozen in the act of meaningless gestures. Long lines of useless carts sink into once shining tiles now crumbling to powder. Sidewalks outside with weeds leisurely filling the seams once avoided in an effort to not break backs. Rows of tables with overturned chairs gathering the blowing dirt from planters of long-dead flowers and trees, penned inside railings on disintegrating decks and patios. Windows reflecting sun stars outside bars, stools stacked neatly, grills and countertops left clean, dishes and silverware ready for meals never made. Rows of bottles still shiny, still full, waiting to be poured into glasses filling with drifting motes and the bodies of insects trapped inside.

Streets and buildings are cracking, the gaps filling with soil seeded with wildflowers blown from fields high with standing grass, fading into them as time creeps, turning days into months, into years. Gas pumps sink into crumbled concrete, rusty nozzles propped in a useless parody of readiness. Signs proclaiming goods no longer offered, sit in windows unseen, letters vanishing into illegibility.

Shuttered Houses appear blinded, their eyes blank and staring, waist-high lawns and tangled flowerbeds are strewn with the abandoned debris of everyday life. Desiccated hoses coiled or stretched to dehydrated sprinklers, overturned chairs dripping threads and stuffing. Bicycles and skateboards rusting into immobility, kiddy pools choked with weeds, plastic toys unrecognizable chunks of suggested color.

Is this a vision of a world waiting to be reclaimed? Will it be us or will nature erase the mark we once stamped into the earth? Will future generations emerge and dig into the dirt in search of what once was? Will they know or only guess how we buried ourselves and waited to be told when we would be allowed to live again?