Writing Prompt No. 30
The sun dips low meeting the horizon.
The light that filters through the window is thin and cool. Winter is long and harsh here. The months of freezing temperatures linger on as if forever. Stepping outside for any moment of time takes an expert level of wardrobe planning. Layers of clothing. The warmest coat. Gloves, hat, boots. The sunlight picks its way through the empty glass bottle, the low angle making a wide shadow of itself on the dimpled wall tiles. Twenty years old at least.
Someone has written the word “ON” in black pen on the switch for the In-Sink-Erator. A Band-Aid box sits empty on the counter. I call them plasters.
The shadow flickers and moves as clouds veil the sun. They drift slowly with nothing else to do.
The dog jumps up on the counter again. Searching for something a small scrap of food he shouldn’t have. Chocolate. Sniffing and sighing he jumps back down and pads around the kitchen.
Narrow lines of colour paint themselves across the sky. As the sun sets the colours become deeper, richer, a few minutes of brilliant light before the sun disappears completely below the horizon.
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