Waltzing Corridors in the Dark

Faster and faster she sped through the halls, across corridors, and into the mist of shadows. But had she ever seen that room and overlooked it? Or perhaps it

hadn’t been there before, but she slipped into a door and it burst open, revealing a room she had never seen before. It was covered with dust and an eerie blue light seemed to rain through old shutters and boards in the wall. In the corner sat an old desk. Behind the desk stood an immense bookshelf, engulfed by cobwebs.

An old Daguerreotype photograph of a man hung. He was unrecognized by Lenke, but had Timmy entered the room, he would have seen that the man was Rupert Byrd. This was his old office, kept up only by what had been there before, but in the past years had been cluttered by the undetermined placing of the recent year’s junk.

Lenke was curious, and decided that she wanted to find an answer before leaving the room. “I can still hear the whispers of the past beckon forth from the shadows for me to follow them,” she suddenly stated to the mists in the room. “How many lives can be led to but a dead end in life? Why must sadness triumph the kindness, the pure, and the innocent? Why are the sensitive beings affected more? Because they are sensitive, and that is just it.”

She started to cry then, but she knew not why. But after a moment of tears, she made her journey over to the desk. With some difficulty, she managed to get to the bottom of its hard and cold wooden surface, ran her hand across the path of dust and gave it a blow. It rained down, as it fell in sprinkles, onto the floor.

The broken items of three generations having lived in this house had been accumulated. But the Byrd family’s items were still there, with a certain charm that had not been displaced nor broken.