Crack

Salty.

I lick my lips, trying to clean my face. Then I remember, I am not a cat. I lift my hand to my eyes to dry the tears the old fashioned way. They are cold. I am holding hands with myself. 

There is no one left to hold onto. 

The house on the hill has stood empty for decades. The door may very well be rusted shut. The windows are framed with the silky cobwebs that seem to grow with age. The stairs are hollowed by a family of termites, who make it their home before they find the old pesticide spray. A tattered banner hangs from the wall. "Make  meri         Again" The stone walls, however, are sturdy as the day they were born. No marks within. Only a single

crack

Interrupts the placidity of it all. There is a path. A long, wooden path. It is lined with weeds. A small, muddy footprint appears on it. Then another. There is a shadow on the ground. A small shadow. But no body. The footprints disappear for a moment, but then return. They are playing hopscotch. 

Through the window, one can see the curtains shift open, and the wind seems to blow it open. The footprints pause their game, and then run to the house with the locked door. The door creaks open. The lights go on. The shadows turn into people. The house is returned to its former glory. A young boy pushes open the door with his muddy foot. He is carrying a plate of carrots. Only carrots. He whistles, and a fawn wobbles out from behind the house. He sets the plate down and sits. They are behind the house. Hidden. Safe. 

CRACK

A shot echos. The house is dark again. Silent. The young boy has only fear in his eyes. He looks at the fawn, who is startled. He hands her a carrot, pets her, and sends her on her way. He turns towards the front of the house. He is a man. He straightens his back, and walks towards the door. Unaware that-

CRACK

He crumples. His face falls when he sees his mother. She is sitting on the porch step. Her eyes open, but unseeing. A blossom of red forming around her. He turns to see a man lying on the ground, staring at the stars. He also has red petals blooming around him. He wears a blue shirt. He holds a handgun with the initials JB written on it.

The boy looks at his father. Then his mother. Neither look back. 

The house on the hill is empty for the first time. The door seems to have rusted shut in only a day. The windows are shattered and lines run through each of them. The stairs are ridden with bullet holes. A shredded banner hangs from the wall. "Make  meri         Again". Even the stone walls seem to crumble.

The boy watches as his mother and father fade from existence. He watches as the red footprints walk away. Down the wooden path. Smearing the muddy ones. He licks his lips, trying to clean his face. Then he remembers. He is the man of the house. He lifts his hands to dry his eyes. He is cold. He walks down the wooden path, turning around one last time to look over his shoulder. At the home that was.