𝐂𝐑𝐈𝐌𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒// 𝐁𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐊𝐀𝐔𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐙

𝐇𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠.

𝐀𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐋 𝟐𝐍𝐃, 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟗

The outside light shines through my closed eyelids, causing me to stir awake. I groan as I rub the remnants of sleep away, feeling the warmth of the morning sun on my face. Slowly, I turn over and open my eyes, only to find my bedside empty. Confusion washes over me as I sit up, my mind still foggy from sleep. I glance around the room, searching for any sign of where he might be. And then, my eyes land on a letter, neatly placed by my bedside.

Carefully picking up the paper, I feel a mix of anticipation and curiosity, the rustling of it echoing in the quiet room, unfolding it, the words written in his handwriting. "Gone to do some cleaning ~Bill." A bittersweet smile tugged at my lips as I absorbed the meaning behind his words.

I muster up energy, and swing my legs over the edge of the bed, my bare feet touching the cool wooden floor. As I stand up, I take a moment to fully take in the somber silence that fills the room. The absence of his presence is palpable, yet there's a sense of tranquility that comes with it.

Leaving the room, I retraced my steps from the night before, the soft carpet underfoot muffling my movements. This time, however, I take slower steps, my nosy nature compelling me to stop and look at every detail of decoration in his house. The sunlight floods through the windows, illuminating the room and making the colors and textures of the furniture and artwork come alive. I find myself captivated by the intricate patterns on the wallpaper, the delicate porcelain figurines on the mantelpiece, and the paintings adorning the walls. Each object seems to hold a story, a piece of his life.

As I continue, I can't help but feel a sense of connection to him through these objects. They reflect his taste, his personality, and his attention to detail. It's as if I'm getting to know him on a deeper level, even if he's not here. And with each passing moment, I find myself falling for the man behind these carefully curated details.

As I continue through Bill's house, my eyes are drawn to a very large painting hanging on the wall. It towers above me, its golden frame adorned with intricate details that catch the light. I can't help but be captivated by its grandeur.

The painting itself is of two identical young boys, dressed in Victorian-era style clothing, standing in front of photo shoot backdrop. Their expressions are serious, yet there's a hint of mischief in their eyes. As I gaze deeper into the painting, I can't help but notice how strikingly similar they look to Bill. The same mischievous glint in his eyes. It's as if these boys are a reflection of him, a glimpse into his past.

My wandering eyes then land on a series of black and white photographs hung up next to the painting.

It's kind of cool how Bill has preserved these memories, these glimpses into his family's past. It makes me think about my own family history and how little I know about my own ancestors. I've always wondered what my great-great-grandparents looked like, what stories they could tell.