Thoughts on a man slowly taking apart a house and the family that once lived there:
The unkempt man hired to disassemble the house was in no hurry. He had no obligations and dropped by only when he needed the cash.
The boards groaned as his cracked fingers separated them from the nails trying to hold them together. No use complaining, he thought, as he piled the ribs in neat stacks. He had been instructed to salvage what he could, although to his jaded eye, nothing was worth saving. Perhaps there had been. Once.
The roof, now gap-toothed, yawned, swallowing rain and sun indiscriminately. But the elements could do no real damage. The heart of the home was long gone. Like a seagull pecking at a dead fish, the man picked at the skeletal walls, deconstructing what remained.
The work went slowly, this tearing down. It might take years before all that was left was a heap of rubble. He would be gone and neighbors would wonder what had happened. How it had come to this.
I really love how you set the scene. The imagery is beautiful.
Thanks, Jess. Every time that I’d walk past that house, it haunted me. When the words sorted themselves out in my mind, I put them down.