Here’s the prompt for this week. Are we looking at an old dining room or perhaps a hotel room? Who might have looked out this window once upon a time? Is someone or something lurking just around that corner where the door is open?
Sit down and tell us a story. Make sure it’s 100 words and place it in the comments or at your own web home with a link back to us, please. We can’t wait to read what you find!
(Photo Credit: MichaelGaida on Pixabay)
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I remember. Every Tuesday and Thursday, regular as clockwork. You were here too, weren’t you?
We’d bow and curtsy and twirl around while Mrs Wilson played her piano. I was terrified of her. That withering glare because you danced “like ants on a hotplate!” whatever that meant. We just weren’t straight-laced and that was all there was to it. Not like her generation.
Have to admit though, she knew her Debussy.
After the war, I used to walk by this place on my way home from work and wonder, how the Hell did they get that piano in here?
She watched, unnoticed.
The real estate agent, with her practiced smile, spoke. “This could be a lovely dining room, ideal for a family.”
She felt the young couples’ sorrow as the agent brushed the dusty blinds.
The wife answered, “There’s just the two of us.”
“An office, then?”
“A studio. Mary’s an artist. I’m not sure…” the husband said.
The wife wandered to where she waited against the wallpapered corner. The woman shivered at the cold before she bent to lift a tattered bundle from the floor. She handed the cloth, a child’s rag doll, to her husband.
“It’s perfect.”
Published on Medium at https://medium.com/warrior-writers/the-perfect-place-cf07332d03?source=friends_link&sk=72d93f34e5b153c7ba072228e8189415
Chuck stared out the window. The window through which he saw it all. His life, and those of the 54 people he saw massacred through this window, would never be the same.