mry writes

*a story fragment*

Afternoon sun speckled off the rumpled surfaces of the window panes, beating against the translucence of the old glass, trying to gain entry into the quiet room, seeking a path to illuminate the dim dusty corners. The intensity of the summer sun was softened by its passage through the dirt that crusted the panes, but it still made its searing presence known despite attenuation by the accumulated grime.

From behind the glass a woman stared out at the dry dusty town. Everything felt bone-achingly dry and austere. This land was unnervingly unlike the close green hills of home.

She couldn’t interpret exactly how she was feeling, beyond empty. Everything felt empty. The town, the room, her heart.

Her soul.