mildewed memory

Mildew and mould hover freely inside the decade-age cabin, eventually welcoming a pair of sneakers, uncertainly wandering. Each step receives a pained, creaking answer. Unhurried climbing continues. One. Two. Three. Four. And more.

Her gloved hand reaches for the rusted knob, still frozen with the last breath of winter. With pounding chest, she opens the familiar room, a bedroom she once called hers.

It is still there.

The crumpled paper her nine-year-old palm crushed on a disappointing Christmas eve.

No one left and no one came on the bare platform.”

They left without her and never came back decades after.

©2020 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Unsplash
Creative Commons License
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.
For dVerse Prosery: Edward Thomas

24 thoughts on “mildewed memory”

  1. I assumed it was going to be about urbexing, until “she opens the familiar room”. I’m now left wondering whether she ever left when they left when she was 9, returning now – or if her ghost opens the door. Great read, thank you.
    The Lonely Recluse

    Liked by 1 person

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