Writing Prompt No. 72
Outside the light was bright but grey.
The light of winter, where the sun hides behind a thick blanket of cloud.
Inside, the light was dim. Everything shrouded in a cold and uninviting gloom.
The house had been empty for six weeks. No one knew where they’d gone, the family that lived there. Things remained as they’d left them. Breakfast dishes on the side. Chairs pulled away from the table. Cutlery and crockery clean and dry waiting to be stacked away in the cupboard above the sink.
They moved through the house talking through microphones hidden in their gas masks. Everywhere was still. They found the cat dead downstairs. Poor thing. Not his fault. Never is. The light from the torch lit the inside of the wardrobe. Clothes hung together. A couple of moths flew out at the disturbance. They’d survived.
A radio played white noise for an absent audience. Someone pulled the plug out. Which was worse. The silence or the radio playing nothing.
A tap was running water into a bathroom sink. Freezing water. Running and running emptying a lake somewhere.
Outside the light faded. Inside someone turned it on.
Feeling brave? Want to share your own version? ‘Let it go’ in the comments below.