"Honey, I want to lock the shed, I'll be right back after..." "After..." his wife called from the basement rooms, somewhere behind several walls. "After, what? "After, I, well, after I find my keys..." Shelia smiled. This was nothing new. The house was new, however. Well, wait, it was new to her and her husband. It was made in the fifties if the handprints on the front sidewalk were to be believed. They were child's hands and they had 'September 52' written beside them. So it must be the fifties. But the house held no smell at all. It was not a clean aroma; it was not a clouded aroma of reconstituted rooms. It was the lifeless smell of empty rooms. Rooms that now were filled with boxes. The new employment meant that they did not have to beg, borrow or steal items any more--she noticed and regretted that the cardboard around her were a litany of words from local groceries and food suppliers. Black marker covered what it could--but it st...
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Showing posts from August, 2008