WRITING PROMPT NO. 244
The morning was light and bright illuminating the selection of items that had been arranged with great care on the small desk.
A wooden chair was tucked underneath as it always was at the end of every day. The curtains were drawn back and looped into a rope tie where they were left to drape and curve with their weight against the side of the window.
Mr Alexander rubbed his eye. He pulled at his eyelashes lifting his right eyelid away from his eyeball. He blinked a few times trying to flush away the sharp speck of dust that had dropped in after he’d brushed the dust off the tidy desk. He hadn’t been in this room for a long time. Not since his mother had died.
He reached up to open the long window. The paint had warmed in the summer heat and stuck the frame to the door. He pushed a little harder until the window opened with a crack of dried brittle chemical. He picked at the gloss chips for a few minutes, the warmth of the sun flattening the hairs on his arms.
After a time he raised his eyes to take in the view of the garden. Amid the weeds and the tangle of untended vines, the shapes of a once-loved place lay. He pushed the window wider allowing a slight but persistent breeze into the room.
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