grace

the evidence that something once warm and welcoming had existed still remained. platters upon platters of delectable food elbowed each other for room on the mahogany table, surrounded by more chairs than could reasonably fit. the matriarch sat reluctantly at the table, torn between taking action and giving up her spot, but remained glued to her seat in an odd state of tension. she drummed her fingers. she looked all around. and she had to wonder, "where has everybody gone?"

an empty orange world; the skeleton of a once flourishing community. born out of dust and fading, once again.