Timothy's left hand touched Beth's leg.
The couch was soft against their bodies in the darkness of the room. In
the middle of the room stood a dark brown coffee table. Visible stains
were left behind, creating a feeling of untidiness and neglectance. From a thin white cable out of the room, hung a yellow light shining a dim ray of photons over the room.
Silence spoke the only words. At the end of the room, where Tim and
Beth's eyes lingered, were the curtains; white, brown smudges, tear
marks and blood stains. Tranquil movements mesmerised them. From the
empty eye sockets, dripped the remainder of their red blood. On the
floor lied the puddle of blood, where they were cut, severely cut by a
blunt knife. On the couch, next to the stone cold bodies, the knife
lied, still. Quiet sounds of flickering light, the sound of the raging
wind outside, teased the bodies to move. But in the fight against the
inability to move, Timothy's head fell on the shoulder of Beth's body.
A door flung open in the kitchen, sending shock waves of fright through
the numb bodies on the couch. Footsteps could be heard in the ever so
long passage. Timothy's grip around Beth's hand tightened tremendously.
New tears of blood formed inside their sockets, dripping down onto their
clothes. Silent sounds of helpless sobs filled the quiet room.
The
footsteps stopped in front of them. The smell of old aftershave and
fresh whiskey filled the room. The silent cries stopped immediately.
"I am home," a smile formed on the wrinkled face, the heavy eyes lit up with energy, and his hands couldn't contain themselves.
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