Continued from May 18, 2018
#AmWriting #Fiction #IndieAuthor
Marcus wiped the dust off the frame before he returned it to the night stand. The house felt more empty now than ever, and his body reflected it. The memories of Dylan’s birth left a hollow ache in his belly that came with a light throb of pain, undoubtedly caused by his ulcer.
He rose from the bed and left the room, closing the door gently behind him. He looked down the hall, seeing the barren walls that were once decorated with paintings and portraits of the family. He paused and thought about the pictures for a moment, remembering Gail standing in the hall, positively radiant as she hung each one.
His eyes welled up, distorting his vision. Her smile was everything that he needed. The warmth of it always spread up through her rose cheeks and into her pale green eyes. It was the reason he had pursued her in the beginning. He felt a surge of longing to see the pictures, to remember his wife more vividly.
He walked down the stairs, back to the entryway and turned into the den. He stood for a moment looking at the boxes that lined the outside of the room until his eyes landed on the lavender-colored vase Gail had put on the table in front of the window. The flowers were long since withered, they hung over the rim, twisting and black.
“The pictures…” He muttered, tearing his eyes from the vase as he began scanning the writing on the boxes for the one he needed.