She gently caressed the withered rose in the vase sitting on the drop leaf table with the crocheted doily Grandma made. She sighed as the last petal slid to the table now shrouded in dust. On the other side of the room stands a silent Grandfather clock, the brass arms twined in cobwebs. She doesn’t miss the clanging of the clock; it used to wake her up when she slept over as a child. She left Grandpa’s old shirt with the tattered collar and worn sleeves draped on the kitchen chair just like it was every night after he came home from work. On the floor, two small dishes sit yellowed with age where Rhubarb used to feast at night now surrounded with mouse turds. She misses Rhubarb, he kept the mice at bay in this beautiful old house, but she’s the only one left now, and she can’t bring herself to move a thing, it’s easier to live like a ghost rattling around among the forget me not mementos than it is to live without them.
- Comment
- Reblog
-
Subscribe
Subscribed
Already have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
lyncrain 
So poignant Lyn. I want more of this story, but at the same time I fear even one more sentence will make the tears welling up burst free.
LikeLiked by 1 person
😊
LikeLiked by 1 person
Part of the impact of this writing is how easily you can visualize the scene. This is the classic “painting with words.”
LikeLiked by 1 person
You my dear are very biased ❤️
LikeLike
Reblogged this on CRAIN'S COMMENTS and commented:
Words with profound emotion.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Loved this: “She left Grandpa’s old shirt with the tattered collar and worn sleeves draped on the kitchen chair” – so vivid, and the adjectives used painted the mood that was wanted. Nice!
LikeLiked by 2 people
Thank you 😊
LikeLiked by 1 person
Love it
LikeLiked by 1 person
Love the use of words noted above by Theresa to describe the poignancy of the scene. Such a gift.
LikeLike