RUINS OF THE PAST

                                                                                                                  By: Neena Mohamed Fakhir

The flat light bore through the ragged cracks in the broken roof, casting a dull, depressing glow on the worn-down appliances around the leaf-littered room. The shattered, moss-covered roof clicked with colorful bugs and dropped brown fallen twigs, which broke free from the trees to infiltrate the rancid-smelling room. The rooftop garden grew ivy and mushrooms that worked in harmony with the ecosystem, feeding the creepy crawlies living and dying there.

The two-story residence smelled earthy from the rain-grown greenery that served as a habitat for the colorful bugs to grow and multiply, like the dense mushrooms inhabiting the damp infrastructure. The busy insects masked the loud silence booming throughout the big, lonely house. Fuzzy, warm moss covered the dark, haunted corners of the rooms, unspoken trauma engraved into the foundation speaking volumes with the stillness of undisturbed water.

You can tell something indescribably horrible happened here. The eerie chill sent down your spine as you step into the blown-down house tells you so. The house has never felt carefree safety; it’s evident. Destroyed alcohol bottles scattered across the kitchen floor and broken toys crying for their savior.

Squirrels scurried out of the shattered window, twice as big trees loomed over the small mammals’ brown, soft bodies. Tall woodlands whispered secrets to them as the sky darkened with the moonlight’s mysterious gleam reflecting off the puddles accumulated on the wet dirt ground from the watering rain clouds above.

The smell of the aged, wet wood offered a musty aura surrounding the derelict house throughout the years it’s been unoccupied. No one dared to even touch the walls, let alone go inside the old structure, scared of the stories drilled deep into the bones.

The furniture inside grew moldy and ancient from the neglect of care over the long period of time it’s been deserted. Dust collected on windowsills and surfaces, undisturbed unless a storm struck the house, Mother Nature cleansing it from its past sins. Rain, being the only source of water, nourished the ecosystem throughout, nursing it back to life after the heavy rays of summer nearly killed it. Droplets of water muddied the soil and splattered onto the walls of the cottage, similar to the crimson red blood splotched on the inside like all those years before, dried up and washed away