The Crib Remembers

When reviewing an item, I noticed I had written a story . . .

358 words

The Crib Remembers

I'd been lost in the rolling plains of Kansas for two days. I was tired, but more than that, I was hungry. My stomach cursed me, every little bit, as I walked. Food was foremost on my mind.

          Through the blur of hungry eyes, I see what I think is relief, hope jumps in my heart, then misery returns.

         At first, I curse what I am seeing as being a mirage . . . but if my eyes ain't telling me lies, up ahead, I see a dilapidated house . . .

         Dust, seeming to be a speck of hell right out of the Dust Bowl, swirls around it in little devils. Despite this, it beckons to me, as if it has a secret it wants to get rid of.

         I go near to it, to greet me, there is no one. Only the cobwebs on the grime-infested windowpanes seem to acknowledge my presence. I open the door and step inside.

         Dust scuttles from beneath my shoes with each step I take. Otherwise, it is clean, but it's complexion is marred by the passing of time.

          The wallpaper shows evidence of moist fault lines traversing its once blue flowers and, in places, hangs limp. Life has long since fled, leaving memories of the dead in its wake. She must have liked blue flowers.

         From room to room, I search for food and find only that of mites. The dust lies, for them, like a banquet laid out by the chef of abandonment.

          One room is an exception . . . As I step inside, the crib stares back at me as my gaze falls upon it.

         Here, in this room, life has painted a still portrait of itself. The crib is the centerpiece of this painting, standing there with an expression of pain on its face, pain at the terrible loss it has suffered, it can barely breathe.

         I turn and walk away, barely able to breathe myself; as I walk, I wipe the tears from my eyes. I know, that once, a baby laughed and cried in this lonely crib . . . I am blinded by her cries.

         . . . I have lost my appetite.