Okay, this is my first story post here. It's a short story I wrote in a boring study lab. It's not my best work, but I thought I'd post it. It's in fiction, because it isn't really true... Feel free to give me some constructive critsim, you guys!
Home Alone
The light passed through the windowpanes with a weightless and airy grace. Dust danced through the little paths light like glitter. There was no longer any curtains to block it out, to save those savored moments of Sunday morning sleeping in. Now was there a body hidden beneath the covers, nor bed or covers at all. The clothes that had once hung it that closet, now gone. And those pictures of family, long disappeared, after all, with no life why have pictures of just that very thing, and if there is no proof of it, then did anyone live there at all?
Yes, for the house, so empty, once upon a time had been full… of laughter, love, and sometimes yells. And once upon a time that house stood bare with, but only one or two set inside its walls. But, with now proof of it was there anyone there at all? No, it seems… it’s so empty, so dead, so long forgotten, lost. Who would want to live there? Anyone, anyone at all? Yes, not just when those desperate times, call for such desperate measures, but when that light comes in and fills the place, and with just pure imagination that house has become a home. And not just one’s home alone, no. That house was a home before, a home to one, two, three, four. That home was left a house, but before, before that house was a home. And a home, a home alone.
Tell me what you think, please!
