The house is quiet now.
drip
Tears drip down its glassy eyes. The sound of hard rain
drop
echoes in the silence, muttering down the halls like an angry ghost. A tap drips slowly in
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the bathroom, the sound filtering through the thick air like a knife that
drop
would cut the tension that resides between us. We mill about the house, alone yet
drip
together in our united sorrow. Suddenly the silence is stopped short by a
drop
scream that near shatters the glass eyes of the old house. It follows the
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cars down the street, as the neighbours turn and stare around, a look of
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pity drowning in their eyes. The scream stops the rest of us. Keys stop
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clattering. The television is muted. We bow our heads in a stance of
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agony, hands clenched by our sides until someone collapses. A
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thump on the floor of their bedroom, reverberating through the
drop
floor as the house stops crying. The sun shines
drip
emptily on the cold heart of
drop
the house.
drip
drop

drip