When a House Was Never Empty

Please note: This is a multi-layered narrative with the two protagonists in different time frames, to make things easier to understand I thought I'd begin by explaining who is where, so Sophie is in present time (2016) and Wren is from the future, around the year 2083. Please enjoy!

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Our story begins when Wren stumbles upon old email print-outs, yellowed with age and donned with fading ink, that were once addressed to her grandmother. Amazed by the fact that she was holding actual paper, something which had been practically extinct for over 20 years now, pushed her into carefully drawing out the first email. Wren found it while sifting through an ancient box which once belonged to her recently deceased grandmother; sorting out which belongings were to be kept and which should be disposed of. In all honesty, she had not expected anything but dull love emails from an old boyfriend; however what she discovered was more than that. As her eyes skimmed the first couple of lines, Wren felt as though she was pulled into the vivid story.

The story in question was written by her grandmother's best friend, Sophie, and was not just a casual email, it was a thin manuscript. The language used was so beautiful and rich that Wren could not put it down, despite the shockingly outdated font. But you're quickly growing impatient, aren't you? Well then let's begin, Wren's eyes are now zooming through the typed words, faster and faster as she soon slips from reality...

"Don't leave things like this, Jonathan! Keep walking and I promise you that I won't be here when you return!" a short blonde screamed, her shrill voice carrying down the windy street that a young man was following. The woman frantically began to pull at her frizzy curls, huffing as though she was out of breath and stamping her feet that were encased in simple black heels. Her red lipstick was smudged and her face was dotted with tears as her eyes followed the figure who was slowly disappearing as he walked further and further away.

Her appalled gaze wildly flitted around the street once the man was out of sight. She was nothing short of a mess and also suddenly aware of how exposed she was, falling apart in the middle of her neighbourhood. Pulling her thin black coat tighter around her shaking body, she hurried back into her creaky house. The floorboards beneath her groaning as she walked, mingling with the sound of her pumps click-clacking with each step.

After reaching her dim bedroom and clumsily falling onto the bed, Sophie felt as though the ground had been pulled from beneath her. Loud sobs escaped her cracked lips and tears seamlessly fell until she had no more left to cry; until she was left with nothing but a broken heart.

Just like her house with cracked walls and squeaky floorboards, Sophie was struggling to hold herself together. She had only recently lost a job where she really felt like she belonged and the sudden loss spun her into a downward spiral. Then, abruptly losing Jonathan made it feel as though the world was caving in. Her life had turned from a bright, colourful summer's day to a harsh storm hailing down on her relentlessly. She had been working towards the job she had dreamt about since she was 12 and after years and years of hard work, she finally had the golden title of 'editor' in her grasp. Alas, it all changed too quickly and Sophie was left feeling like the punchline to some sick joke after promptly being fired due to supposed 'budget cuts'. As a result, Sophie's behaviour resembled a bitter librarian. She was constantly demanding silence and glaring at anyone who dared to laugh or even show slight signs of happiness. It seemed as though the point of staying strong and moving on was mute; she had lost not only her job, but the supposed 'love of her life' as well.

For the following weeks that were slowly dragging by, the tiny blonde had bags steadily growing beneath her eyes. Sophie simply went through the motions of life; doing nothing more, nothing less. She was getting thinner and thinner as her appetite was shrinking faster than a withering, autumn leaf. Leaving her to be nothing but a shell of the woman she used to be, her body just an empty house.