[Critique Group 1] Cleora's December 2020 submission

[sitting.duck at springmail.com]

This is a story in response to a story Winslow Parker posted on the list a few months ago.
I have appended his story to the end in case you would like to read my inspiration.

309 words
The Lonely Room
By C. S. Boyd

Charles turned the key in the lock to the twin's former bedroom for the first time in 47 years and pushed open the door. A rocking horse stood silent and still just inside. Tears welled up in Helens eyes and spilled down her cheeks. . She turned her head and sobbed into his shoulder. Charles wrapped his arm around her as he stared forlornly into the room.

An open book lay on the end of the bed waiting for Charlene to return and continue reading. What was that book, he wondered, but he didn’t go over and pick it up.

He remembered like it was yesterday how he had told Charlene to come on, the book would still be there when they got back. The horse continuing to rock gently following Charlie jumping off and running past them to get int the car. Charlene had reluctantly slid off the bed and followed them out. 

It was supposed to be a quick trip to the filling station to service the car before Helen left to go visit her Mom. On the way, a truck plowed into the back end of their vehicle throwing Charlie out through the passenger side window and Charlene over the front seat and into the windshield. Emergency vehicle personnel revived Charlie in the ambulance, but he was pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital. during the chaos that followed, the room was forgotten. 

Two weeks later, Charlene was taken off life support; the room door closed and locked.

Charles raised his hand to stroke Helen’s hair. “Are you sure there is nothing you want to take with us to the home?” 

Hellen nodded her head against his shoulder. “I’m sure,” she said, her whisper barely audible.

“Okay,” He said, and Together they turned and left the lonely room behind.

Winslow's submission at around Halloween.

Still Life
By Winslow Parker

A dusty gravel road drew me from my travel,
Iron to magnet,
Into its neglected ruts.
Weed-strewn,
Rutted,
Dusty.

Avoiding potholes
And stones,
Slowed my progress.

Its end, a neglected farmyard;
Farm house in the foreground,
Barn behind,
Corral to one side.

I stopped in a weed-bedraggled yard,
Rose bushes, valiant, persistent
Raise harried blooms
Above harassing weeds.

Front door locked,
I found,
After knocking long and loud.

House abandoned, neglected,
Random clapboards missing,
Dark blemishes on a sun-weathered face.
Shingles curled,
Primping,
A failed flirtation,

Shielding eyes from sun’s glare,
Through dusty fly-specked glass,
I peered into an empty living room

Rounding a bedraggled corner,
I approached another window.
Why I cannot say,
There is no profit 
Or purpose in my exploration,
Only voyeuristic curiosity.

A well-worn rocking horse stood,
Patient and serene,
Awaiting a child 
Long gone,
Perhaps long grown,
Age incongruent 
With other toys,

Two beds, 
One pink and frilly 
The other boy-child brown.
Baseball bat and glove
Three dolls in a neat row;
BB gun and baseball cards fanned poker-style on the floor,
Sparkling sandals placed just so,
Frilly skirt hanging forlorn, waiting—
Bookcase, divided on the vertical,
Boy’s books left,
Girl’s right.
Cover colors the telltale giveaway. 
It was a shared room.
Twins, perhaps?

At the foot of the girl’s bed,
A book lay open,
As if awaiting her eight-year-old eyes 
To resume reading
Exactly where they left off.
I see her,
Restless feet in the air, 
Tummy to quilt,
Holding words to the light,
Delighting in adventure.
She left in mid-story.

Did they outgrow the room
The very day of the move?
Was there no room in the truck for toys?
Why no abandoned adult furniture,
Only children’s?

Where did they go,
When?
Why?

Possible stories rose, 
Unformed ghosts of the mind,
Unexplained,
Unknowable,
Unresolved mystery.