The bells on Griffin’s collar tingle as he lazily rolls his fuzzy furry cotton candy like body over at his favorite spot on the old teak chair, in the living room.
Somewhere, the faint sound of the piano being played is heard, causing Griffin to pop his ears up and run towards the familiar music, leaving the room lifeless like always.
The same room that has an awful lot of breathing space, at times could suffocate people.
The dusty pictures frames facing the wall on the fake fire place, has a lot of memories, some that could invoke unnecessary emotions, none of which wanting to be remembered.
The writing desk on the far left seems like the only piece of furniture that has been used to the fullest, providing warmth in the otherwise cold room. The sheets of paper with incomplete sentences just lay there waiting to be filled, with the black ink pen that’s causing a stain and the cigar on the ashtray is still lit.
It’s the same night under the same stars; one can get so used to this.
The sun set a lifetime ago and the noise from the ocean surface brushing against the land is loud.
The moonlight in a velvet black sky, shining white, clean and lovely, is reflected off the calm sea laying like a glistening lunar highway on the still surface of the water.
All quiet and still, beautiful but empty.
The curtains are prisoners of the closed glass windows, which have never been opened. They are constantly mocked by the wind chimes that gracefully sways to the wrath of the cool sea breeze.
Oh! Don’t they wish they could be let out just for a moment.
Like the others, they are kept in captivity.
The old beach house, which was once a home of grandeur, now stands decaying in self-pity.
The dim flickering light from the chandelier is all one can see.
It reflects the life of a dying soul just waiting to be set free.