Here Lie Memories

He could hear the car a mile away from his house. He is pretty sure it's not a dream this time. The slam of the car door jolts him out of his limbo of sleep and somehow persuades him to answer the door.
          The crunching of the lonely gravel driveway under her stilettos make him cringe; the sound reminds him that it had been too long since his last meeting with a real person.
          She is uncomfortably standing on the decrepit balcony and facing away from the door, looking out onto the massive backyard, wondering how one person could be so selfish as to keep this much land to themselves. She hears the door open behind her, the hinges creek like an angry cat shrieking, she spins around and for the first second; they just stare at eachother.
          He looks her up and down. He sees her hair in a tight, neat bun, single goldne earrings, her black skirt and the matching black heels. Her skin was a pale, yet healthy colour which gave him the impression she spent her life indoors behind a clean, tidy desk.
          She looks him up and down. She notices the cigarette stained fingers and teeth, she tries guessing the last time he had washed his hair. His glasses had finger prints, scratches and dust, which somehow match the rest of his attire. She is the first to speak.
"Good afternoon, my name is Rachel Harkim and I'm from Wesley's Real Estate and am wondering if you would considering selling? We have some clients who are quite interested in a property in this area and you would probably be offered a very good price, sir." Silence. He shakes his head and closes the flimsy mesh door slowly. "If you don't mind I'll just have a look around, for interests sake?" she asks. He doesn't give her a reply, turns around gradually and slumps back down on his couch, staring at his TV that's not even plugged in.
           Out of the corner of his eye he can see Rachel's silhouette through the windows which haven't been cleaned in so long, the dirty sun light and shadows are all he can ever see. When she is out of view, he still manages to trace the way she went from the sound of her shoes on the back steps. He imagines her walking around his garden that used to be green; she must have spotted the swing in the pine tree by now. Maybe she's on it, and smiling with joy at his beautiful property. He then remembers the swing has been broken for years, the ropes are worn to the point of leaving splinters in the palm of her hands, and the wooden seat is rotten to the core.
          He wonders again why he still lives here, and then considers going outside to meet this Rachel Harkim from Wesley's Real Estate. His legs crack and pop as he rises from the couch and walks over to a tall cupboard full of old tools. He reaches for the hand axe, once used for the family fire. There is now no point. It touches the floor as he lazily holds it in his wrinkly hand.