The Room
The room was bare and didn’t look as though it had been used in years. Desolate, derelict. The monochrome tiled floor was cracked and battered, and the door had a broken cobweb at its corner. Bland, ruined. There was little light in the room; the thin window on the back wall was done-up with blinds and the pull was frayed badly. Opposite from the door sat a small window which showed a dreary back yard: old, dead trees bent, bowing to the wind; the garden was full of bits of rubbish; and the once-white picket fence seemed to have blown inwards. No doubt, creatures ran rabid amongst the mess.
In the faint light, the walls and door looked filthy. A mouse-hole from the garden had cracked its way through the plaster, and on the floor lay a broken wine bottle.





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