Abandoned
MICHELLE COUNCIL
The old house sags, its frame and foundations groaning under the weight of its years. The tin roof, painted a bright red years ago, is now faded under the relenting Australian sun. Its windows, once meticulously clean and bright, like eyes gazing out at the world, are now clouded with the cataracts of time, reflecting a distorted, fragmented sky. Its walls, once bright and white, are now peeling like sunburnt skin, revealing the bare bones of the weathered wood beneath. Outside the overgrown garden is full of weeds choking the life out of forgotten flowerbeds. Next to the house, a tall lemon-scented gum sways in the breeze. It is nearly as old as the house itself. Sitting high in the branches and keeping guard is a woman, barely a memory now, clinging onto her life, forever bound to this home that held her heart.
Gliding through the walls, she barely bothers the dust motes twirling in the weak light. Outlines of roses cling onto the tattered wallpaper - the faded garlands are a tender reminder of the young bride who once chose them, her dreams now as brittle as the peeling stripes of gold and cream. Lace curtains left rotting on their rods, the odour of mice and mildew, and the dark corners home to families of spiders spinning intricate patterns in their webs. Bookshelves now bare, the stories that lived on them long since scattered. The timber floorboards creak as the house shifts, whispering the stories of love, loss, and life within these crumbling rooms.
The house, like her, is a decaying memory of the past, when life was smaller, and everyone knew everyone. Now, the city encroaches, taking over the fields, and people have become strangers. The house is sold and will be demolished; a new one with new memories will replace it. The woman, tethered to the remnants of her life, will lose her last link to her earthly existence.
As the sun sets and evening shadows cast over the house and garden, the wrench to move on and leave this place is strong. She whispers goodbye to her home and this life. Drifting in the gentle breeze towards the church gates, she is a shadow in the twilight. A simple headstone inscribed She Was Loved is barely visible beneath the gnarled weeds. She longs to rest in this place, even if it isn’t the home she desires.
The wind gently whispers through the gums and carries her spirit away. Turning to the darkness, she drifts towards the unknown. The old house is silent now, and she moves on, looking for solace in the eternal night.
Abandoned (image by Michelle Council)
Based in Sydney, Michelle Council is a passionate writer, painter, and crochet creator. When not crafting words or art, she cherishes time with her family, friends and beloved dog Frankie. Her creative spirit thrives on exploring new ideas and techniques, always seeking to express the beauty of the world around her.
