A Ghastly Past by Miranda K

It was a peaceful 'morn; the sun was pouring through the windows and cardinals were calling from outside in the amber daylight. Rising from the cotton bed sheets, Mrs. Burkhart fondled over the idea of departing from their household today. She patted the other side of the bed blindly; her husband had departed from the bedroom. Mr. Burkhart was alone in the kitchen, sipping his daily caffeine nonchalantly; the cool tile floor kept him pacing around in more of a concerned and frantic manner. He held the daily newspaper in his hand, gripping it tightly as he read the terrifying stories
of their once all peaceful neighborhood. This was why they were moving, of course - a dangerous city is no place children should be raised.

Boxes were piled high against the stone walls; the majority of their utilities and furnishings were already packed and ready to set sail to a new environment. Dave's, Mr. Burkhart’s, hand was wrapped around his ceramic coffee cup, the grip tightening so. It’s always so stressful before a move, is it not? Your mind wanders so often you might begin to become forgetful and often find that it wasn’t as easy as you would have imagined it to be. There are so many things to keep track of, and not to mention all of the new expenses that would change in the new facility. These kind of thoughts are what flooded his mind, whisking around, stirring up emotions about all of the things and luxuries he might miss, things that he has grown to love, they would be gone without the bustling city at his grasp.

Crack! The coffee mug shattered between his fingers; the caffeinated drink pooled around on the tile and splashed at his flannel pajamas. A few minor cuts were displayed on his palm; they swelled and began to bleed. His reaction to all of the memories and emotions that had taken place in their home, they were dwelling as tears, but not so many as to make him look like a sensitive kind of man. That he was not. Both of his cheeks were a pale red, with streaks of water dripping down them. Dave’s blonde hair hung shaggily over his right eye as he doubled over and picked up the broken shards of the acrylic painted glass.

Once all of the bits and pieces were placed inside of the waste basket, the man, with a half barbaric look to his eyes, took a tattered rag and wiped the coffee off of the ground and rung the cloth out in the sink. He started off into the hallway, passing the bare walls where picture frames and remnants of the family’s past used to be seen. But now it was just an empty abyss. His feet shuffled along the wooden floors, once he reached the steps; his steps echoed throughout the basement and followed suit into the
bedroom. Jade, Dave’s wife, was awake, and now she was sitting before her armoire gazing at all of  her clothing she could choose. The young woman walked over to the doorway, greeting her husband with a gleeful smile and a wink, through her glasses she could see that he was simply not in the mood for something so cheerful. But Dave put on a fake smile, and kissed his spouse on the cheek lightly.