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Weekly Contest #332
The silence in the house wasn't empty; it was full of teeth. It chewed the air, making it dense, rancid, with that particular smell things have when they stop being useful. Elena sealed the last cardboard box with a screech of packing tape that sounded like a gunshot in the empty room. She wiped her hands on her jeans, leaving a trail of gray dust on the blue fabric. Dust. It was the only thing this house truly possessed now. Not furniture, not paintings, not Persian rugs worn by the sun. It was dust. Dead skin. Pulverized time that refused ...
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