Oakfield, VI
It was late afternoon, on the seventh day, when the alarm finally stopped. I remember it clearly: I was sitting on our porch, painting a hand rail. We still hadn’t heard from any of the local authorities regarding the owner of the house. Perhaps the electricity supply had been cut, or the battery had finally quit; maybe the speaker simply wore out.
Eric popped his head out from next door, wearing a slightly puzzled expression; like he knew that something had changed, but couldn’t quite figure out what it was.
“Hey Eric, that’s the last of your romantic nights in the desert,” I joked. Eric gave me an odd look, and cupped his hand to the side of his head. “I said, no more nights in the RV for you two, huh?”
“Thank Christ!” Eric yelled, though we were mere feet apart. “I was starting to think it was never gonna stop.” He stepped over the low dividing wall into our driveway, and pulled something from one ear; I saw that he was wearing the ear plugs he’d bought for the shooting range. “At least we could get out of here and get some sleep - you guys must have been going nuts.”
“Eric,” I said, shaking my head, “you have no idea.” He smiled.
“So, I don’t like to tempt fate,” said Eric, “but, uh… this could just as easily happen in any of these other empty places along here.” He jabbed a thumb in their direction.
I looked down the street towards the abandoned houses, with their dirty white cladding and neglected gardens. I wonder if they know that their families have left them behind? I wonder if they’ll start crying too?
Hi, my name's Mark. I'm trying to come up with some ideas for a book. Think of this as my online writing notebook: ideas, stories, beginnings, endings. Things that just pop into my mind. I'm also on Twitter as @markeebee.
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