Condemned

The bricks were still red and the mortar held fast. Window panes resisted both wind and rain while the fireplace heated the entire home. The floorboards made no noise and knew not the wear of feet. There were no aromas of past meals, nor pets, nor accidents, only that of new paint and sawdust. And there, out past the white gossamer curtains laid fields of magnificent green grass, which continued as far as the eye could see. A harsh sign on a stake penetrated the soil at the end of the drive, "FOR RENT".

Fresh-faced and full of hope, the house became theirs. The smell of paint faded and the warm scent of baked potatoes and clean laundry took over. Tables and chairs, beds and carpets laid their claim to the once bare floor. Long days she spent rocking in a chair near the window, slowly wearing the finish from the floor. Long days he spent at a factory, but he always returned smelling of the bar. His dirty shoes abraded the floor, wearing them white near the door.

Red cheeks and a wail to rival a siren became the norm. The rocking chair became her place of refuge, soothing her wailing child. From the chair, past yellowed curtains she could see the unkempt yard. The old smells from the kitchen only tortured their bellies, a constant reminder of days before child. More often than not he returned late, stumbling and paychecks few and far between. She always wakes when he returns; the floorboards no longer keep secrets.

There are no more paychecks, only excuses and false promises. False promises do not feed a hungry child, nor do they keep the landlord happy. Walls bear witness to the frustration of fists, while carpets absorb the tears. The only reminder of tables and chairs, beds and carpets, is where the wood has been forgotten by sunlight, and still remains black. Left behind are dirty drapes, a black sooty chimney, and water stains.

Today the house remains empty, once colorful and new. Now the bricks have grayed and the mortar is cracking. The floorboards creak and are whitened from wear. The only smell is one of rot and decay. Past the yellow curtains, littered with moth holes is a rough patch of grass, so vile that no plague of locusts would devour it. A harsh sign on a stake penetrates the soil at the end off the drive, "CONDEMNED".