He went up the stairs, taking a small rusted key out of his pocket. He hadn’t been here in a while, and he had come a long way for closure. Unlocking the door, he breathed deeply. He couldn’t deny he was a bit anxious and unsure of what he would find in that old dusty place.
Everything was as he had left them. The furniture, sitting untouched. The clothes, scattered on the bed and dresser. The plates by the sink, as if he’d just cleaned them.
Some things had changed, though. The perfume was gone, leaving only a smell of unused. The hum of the fridge was absent. The windows barely let light in. The colors had faded, leaving an impression of gray. The flowers on the table were dead. An unopened letter in a yellow envelope.
He remembered, now. After years of living a different life, he remembered. And it was too late.
Word count : 154
Image : Provided by Pixabay.
Story writing for the 44th Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers (FFfAW), a weekly challenge hosted by Priceless Joy to write a ±100-150 word story based on a picture.
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