Harold stood in his empty living room. Three weeks had passed since he opened his door that fateful day. Never did he imagine that it would all come to this. His once beautiful, vibrant home was now bare.
He had been forced to sign a lease on an apartment that was situated in a bleak, dodgy neighbourhood. In his younger years, Harold would have been fearful to live in such conditions; but in light of his newfound acceptance of death, such worries seemed trivial. Sadness replaced his fear – an all-consuming, overwhelming sadness, as he picked up the last box from his living room floor.
Harold gazed around the empty room – his former home. He imagined colours swirling across the walls, brightening the room around him. With every new colour, Harold reminisced. He imagined Julia cooking delightful meals in the kitchen. He imagined the two of them dancing in the living room. He imagined playing the piano for her. And he imagined his melodies swirling throughout the room, synchronized with Julia's colours. She had always reminded him of the colour of the sun elegantly breaking through the morning clouds – bright and warm. As each note played, colours jumped and danced across the room. And for a moment, Harold was overcome with hope. However, as quickly as those feelings came, they left. The reality of his situation was much too daunting for hope to survive for long.
Harold turned the lights off and left the house for the last time. His new home would feel nothing like the one he once shared with Julia.
YOU ARE READING
Death and Tea at Three
General FictionSince Julia's passing, Harold had been feeling like he didn't have much to live for. He's a retired music teacher with no wife, no children, no purpose. He's not suicidal - in fact, as much as he is ready to die, the thought of taking his own life s...
