Short Story : Old, Dusty Room

Johns gently caresses the right side of her face and her hands pay particular attention to a small spot behind her

Mary and Karl’s contrasting interactions with the tree encapsulate their differing personalities. This makes Karl a blossoming flower in comparison to

The blazing light was shining in my face and a slight breeze blew through the arched windows. I spotted an open chest in the attic, whilst spring cleaning. The outside rim of the box was covered in dust and cobbled webs; the hinge was rusty, making a creak noise against the ghost-quiet room. Rummaging my hand around the chest there was a scratchy-substance digging against my fingers. As the sun faded from my sight I lifted up the mysterious object. It was an old rustic book; I flipped through the delicate pages, every touch made a crinkling

The room was musty and dimly lit. A heavy curtain was drawn across the only window, allowing only a slight and pathetic slant of balmy sunlight to slip in. Faintly, the air tasted of dog urine and stray fur—a fusty undertone hovering beneath ghostly.

The dust. The endless waiting. The couple next door constantly fighting. She hung a white sheet from a rope and called it a curtain and behind the white curtain she lay down on her cot and she closed her eyes and she slept.” (Page 94)

Maybe four or five is his guest... There is that slight dank smell that all big empty old houses have that haven't had a good dusting or the introduction of human scent... The place is amazingly clean to have been abandoned for so long... Lest work he'll have to do... He slowly begins an inspective march through the bottom floors, passing the grand piano, looking sideways at the keys as his feet continues on to the next room... A parlor or such... Maybe a dinning room... Yep... A china cabinet still stocked... He won't be needing much.... He enters now a smaller room, sunk a few steps lower than the main floor... This was someone's study... A big writing desk, book shelves stocked with a variety of subjects, but mostly music and art.... He deduces that the last occupant was the owner of the German grand piano in the first room... The last and final occupant... He couldn't see how anyone else after him would have the same tastes as to keep everything as it was... He was pretty sure it was a him, and not a her; and despite the great size of the place, it was not a family either.... This was a single man's

I unlock the metal gate and climb onto the front patio. Before me stands a two-story house with newly-refurbished windows and a fresh coat of white paint. I admire the house’s beauty as I stroll past it. I walk through a crowded path of mohintli, white laelia, tithonia, and dahlias that seem to guide me to the real reason I am at this address. After moving the branches of some avocado trees out of the way, I finally find the treasure I am seeking: a small rose-colored house with just two windows and two rooms. With the key my father gave me, I open the doors to enter the rooms. The light switch does not work, so only shadows are present in the room. Giant cracks graze the walls like the markings of a lion. On the ceiling, an intricate flower design shines proudly with the rest of the room, slowly losing its will to decay. Only broken furniture stands in the corners of the room, ashamed to be present in front of a girl from the North. After taking a deep breath to calm my emotions, I lock the door, look to the sky, and walk back to the house I am staying at with my

The kitchen was quiet as he opened the door. Through the glass window near the sink, he could see the sun was just starting to rise from behind the once dark horizon. A rooster crowed from outside, signaling the start of the day. A fresh, cool breeze floated in through the open window. On the table was a very small dark wooden bed which had a small heart craved into the centerpiece. It also had a small white mattress, a red and blue sheets, and a beautiful down quilt.

A morbid melancholy stole over me. Anxiety gnawed at my heart. I was a living corpse. There was a feeling of chill in the air every day as I felt. I faked illness so as not to go to school. Despair hangs heavy in the stifling air. It was a dreary day for me , cold and without sunshine. I dread people and always avoid people. The door was locked from the inside. A cold grey light crept under the curtains. The windows were secured with locks and bars. The room felt cold and sterile.The flowers faded for want of water. A single lamp was suspended from the ceiling. The clock ticked louder and louder in a quiet room. I regarded the room as a refuge from the outside

The morning air seeped through the open window as the newly rising sun glowed on the barren rock landscape dome. It wasn’t so barren though, there was small house that laid nestled in the rocks. The house was more like a small shackled shed than an actually house. The house was small and simple, made out of wood equipped with a chicken coop and garden. The house was had one room. In the room was a fireplace, coal burning stove, table for two, and a twin sized bed shoved in the corner. The bed was unmade and a man stood at the stove making his morning breakfast of eggs.

wind. It was as if it was crying, almost howling for its voice to be

High upon a lonely hill surrounded by a great dark forest, stood an ancient, crumbling manor, known as the Haunted House. The windows were all smashed and it looked like the house was used a long time ago and was never used again. The font gates were as old as the hills. It belonged to a greedy old man, he was as short as a stump, he was really grumpy and fat who everyone said he was a wizard. Even though he owned the immense haunted house he didn’t dare to go inside because he was frightened like a child in dark, so he lived in the small cottage in the grounds of the manor, with just his black cat for company. He was as lonely as the master who has go to war, but hews happy, because he had a true love. His true love was gold, and he had

The room is dark for there is no light shining through the window next to the drawer like any other day. A folded paper in the bucket is settled next the drawer, that always have been cleaned, but not this time when I looked. I can smell the fresh tea where it is sitting on top of the night stand. I am sitting in a chair next to my parent’s bed with my ill mother laying on top of her bed.

In the corner of the room, an old lady was slouched on a cracked, olive upholstered chair. A man gripped her veiny hand and softly patted her back. She appeared to suffer from a vigorous cough, which originated deep in her chest. Delicate curls framed her fragile face as hair was neatly swept to one side. A double string of ivory pearls swooped around her neck, landing in the lull of her collarbone. Vintage black eyeglasses were diligently balancing on the bridge of her crinkly nose. The wrinkles that adorned her face were indicative of many years lived and with each cough, they furrowed. She wore a knitted rose cardigan over what appeared to be a light blue night gown. It was evident that she had been rushed to the hospital as she was still wearing her fucia puffy slippers.

Touched by fading moonlight, the girl looked pale as a ghost, distressed and sorrowful. Great drops fell from her eyes; the heavy rain clouds in her mind let loose their turbulent nature. She felt the muscle of her chin trembled like a small child, again, she looked toward the window as if the darkness outside could soothe her. However, she tried to keep her sobbing down by biting her lips, afraid the woman would “visit” again. Meanwhile, in the hallway, there was only deadly silence, creating an overwhelming sense of emptiness.