12 August 2015

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The room is full of cobwebs and dust, but the door is always open. A few black curls are still nestled in the bristles of her silver hairbrush. A quarter, nickel, dime, and three pennies that have turned black.

She's not coming back. Her bed is still turned down, waiting, last outfit crumpled by her bathroom door. The cellphone is laying on the dresser, on the charger, still chiming with notifications.

Father and daughter take one last look, and lay a folded sheet of paper on the bed.

"It's time to go." They turned and left for a new life.

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Charloft - daily writing prompts

August 2015

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