(no subject)
Somewhere, there is a closet.
It is a perfectly serviceable closet, though the door was thoughtlessly torn out some time previously and replaced with a sheet of plywood.
This closet was once very well kept, and kept immaculately clean and tastefully decorated. Evidence of this can still be seen, here and there.
A canister of furniture polish and a shining cloth, resting on a shelf.
A small array of cleaning supplies, set near where the door had been, ready for use.
A framed sketch, the subject indistinguishable under the dust.
The dust -- molecule by molecule, it gathers. Slowly, imperceptibly. Over the past year, it has grown thick on every surface. The walls. The supplies.
An old straw broom, resting in the corner. As still and lifeless as every other item in the small space. Just as dusty.
It is a perfectly serviceable closet, though the door was thoughtlessly torn out some time previously and replaced with a sheet of plywood.
This closet was once very well kept, and kept immaculately clean and tastefully decorated. Evidence of this can still be seen, here and there.
A canister of furniture polish and a shining cloth, resting on a shelf.
A small array of cleaning supplies, set near where the door had been, ready for use.
A framed sketch, the subject indistinguishable under the dust.
The dust -- molecule by molecule, it gathers. Slowly, imperceptibly. Over the past year, it has grown thick on every surface. The walls. The supplies.
An old straw broom, resting in the corner. As still and lifeless as every other item in the small space. Just as dusty.