The Empty House, by Guy Fletcher

It was only last year I heard the pitiful cry of, “Help, help, help.”

At first I thought it was a cat, and for one selfish second, even contemplated ignoring the plea.

“You saved my life!” she exclaimed weakly.

Now she has gone. The photograph of her horrible son, whom she adored, will have disappeared like a ghost.

He rarely visited, except after her death, piling “useful” objects into his van like a vulture.

The house has curtains drawn and sleeps, but soon a new family will move in, unaware of its past. Oh, that is the natural order of things.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s