Wayward Passion

"She hasn’t been seen for quite sometime and I’m really worried that something dreadful has happened to her. Please, can you take a look inside?"

"Sure thing. We get a lot of calls like this. Your friend is probably out for the day. As soon as we find out what’s going on inside, you’ll be the first to know."

"Be careful when you go in, she's a bit of a hoarder!"

Image of Public Domain artwork by Samuel van Hoogstraten from 1653

Perched atop a ladder a grimy window like a portal to this one’s soul blurs a vision seen far too often amongst those forgotten by time and family.

With hands and face pressed hard against the glass, dim lit eyes scan the room for signs of life. But a wayward passion impedes this mission as worldly possessions, all neatly stacked, almost touch the ceiling.

Having breached the portal, a single long deep breath clears the room of deathly horrors.

All that there’s left to do is to clamber in and crawl from box to box, stack to stack, with back to ceiling and stomach to ancient history.

One would hope this festering vision doesn’t give in and swallow the one who’s intent on leaving no stone unturned.

Peering down from an Everest of a lifetime’s hoarding, a well worn narrow path is seen leading from front to rear, with smaller rooms that may hide the almost forgotten, not too far away.

Tobogganing down the slope of long forgotten musty memories, images flash by of much younger days enjoyed by the one hell bent on keeping what others would consider worthless.

Coming to rest on print alien to searching wide opened eyes, the search begins anew.

Treading lightly over uneven ground, the dark narrow trench leads off into the kitchen and to a space which maybe the one and only bedroom.

Upon one visible wall within this room, hang freshly polished wooden framed photographs of persons that must have lived a hundred years ago. In the corner, surrounded by jars of butts and enough clothes to sink a ship, lays a heavily stained well-worn mattress with tattered sheets and a single threadbare blanket.

Turing back, a glimmer of hope prevails as the kitchen shows signs of life, with recently opened cans of pet food littering every inch. Odd though, considering no pets live within. As for the bathroom it’s just another storage pen.

Having failed to locate a single soul, it’s time to leave and tell the inquiring mind outside, what’s happened here. Unlocking the front door, we turn to take one last look. “God, how could anyone live like this?” now comes to mind for the umpteenth time.

"Did you find her? Is she alright?"

"No….no ones home. Have you seen what it’s like inside?"

"Yes I know it’s terrible, but she wouldn’t have it any other way."

To be continued...