Empty

Off in mountains somewhere there was a cottage. The cottage’s exterior was built out of planks of wood that had aged to a peeling gray color. The land around the cottage was sparse with the occasional weed poking it’s head out of the dirt as if to say hello. There was a car out front, reminiscent of the past, it was rusted, yellow, and dented to oblivion. There was very thin ivy growing from the ground wrapping itself around the white rims holding them down, the tires were frowning as if to show you that they hadn’t gone anywhere and weren’t going anywhere for a very long time.

Up the front steps and through the cracked screen door there was a man placed at a table, a man that time had forgotten. That table was the only piece of furniture. The cottage was empty. The table was next to a window on the left side of the room, the window had been dirtied by the years transforming all light that entered through into a pale green aura that highlighted all the dust in the air and on the man’s face. The man clutched a piece of glass similar to the window. With every ruby that left his pruney fingers a whimper was released from his withered lips, and the rivers and valleys of his face cast deep shadows over his faintly beating heart.

In front of him torn pieces of memories littered the splintered wooden table. Under the sound of pain his broken barrel of whiskey voice whispered curses to himself “Damn me. All the good ya had left is cut to bits. All the good ya ever had is cut to bits”. Looking at the glass in his hand just cleansed by a lonely tear drop he whispered again “Damn me”.

Off in mountains somewhere there was a cottage. The cottage’s exterior was built out of planks of wood that had aged to a peeling gray color. The cottage was old and empty. And so was the man.