(no subject)
the row of houses greets him with an ominous silence. without going inside, he knows each and every one of them is empty. it's the stillness. nothing human has been in this place for years, maybe decades. the weight of that knowledge is a sinking stone in his gut. if he could just turn around and--
the striking familiarity of the house on the left slices neatly through his thoughts and makes his lungs squeeze tight. he can't place it exactly, but some part of his mind remembers it. he pictures a man and his wife without knowing their names or their faces. he hears the laughter of children. while all the other buildings on the street are just that-- buildings-- this one, he's sure, was a home.
the door is unlocked. he lets himself in and is greeted by a permeating silence.
➔