The Room was unkempt. The floor was dusty. The curtains were colorfully discolored. Walls carelessly adorned. One with wrinkling posters. One with a lone cross. A thousand dying eyes staring down at mountains of filth.
Books. Boxes. Dirty Blotches. Things Left Behind.
Gifts received and gifts still waiting.
Drawers full. Closets betraying dirty secrets.
Not-yet-washed laundry stood motionless.
A single rose stubbornly bloomed under the dim, yellowing lamp. Mold crawled into little corners.
The only evidence of life.
The windows, dulled by time, peered over wild undergrowth. Weeds shot through shifting sidewalks. Vines framed the tired glass. Moss coated the crumbling edifice. The bushes grew like tangled, untidy hair long overdue for a trimming. The decaying House pulsed with life. The second step inhabited by a rotund chipmunk and the attic by a greedy squirrel. And amidst the quiet chaos, The Flag still flew. And the Room remained, unfazed.
Voices lingered behind the peeling door. Water ran. Doors opened and closed.
Happy voices.
Bored voices.
Desperate voices.
Anger. Sadness. Excitement. Emotions filled the halls. They had never left.
Life moved on. Life stood still.
The House inhaled. And exhaled.
The air in the Room was stale.
The wind whispered through warped windowpanes. The Chill crept in and curled up comfortably in The Clutter—in the Heart of Darkness. Shadows shifted with each breath. Shades darted around dying bulbs. The gales and umbrae muttered amongst themselves. The rotting floorboards groaned in response. The peeling door stood on guard—a silent witness. Nothing ever escaped its peeling paint. The Room stood still.
The House spoke.
And The World listened.
The Rotund Chipmunk froze mid-step. The Greedy Squirrel dropped its newest nut. The bushes seemed to stop growing.
The House breathed.
And The World held still.
For. Just. One. Second.