Ideals of Grandeur



She sat stoically  and watched as the mover took the last box from the Grand Colonial she helped refurbish from the ground up.

The house was empty now.

Void of family photographs,

Void of the sounds of little feet pitter – pattering about,

Void of the sounds of joyous laughter that once filled the house; echoing from room to room like the sweet scent of fresh flowers on a breezy Spring day.

Now there was only silence. Deafening silence.

Looking at the empty, silent house made it seem small.

Not only void of memories and  sounds,

But the grandeur it once held.


After some time had passed, how much, she didn’t know, a mover approached her and gently spoke, “Miss, are you okay,” he asked. Realizing she was lying on the cold hardwood floor, she attempted to fix herself, telling the mover, “I’m fine. You can go now. Thank you.”

Once she heard the door shut behind the concerned mover, she returned to the cold hardwood floor where she lay until Sunrise, ruminating over what went wrong.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s