Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

the living room

It had been such a long time; dust had started to settle along the framed photographs. Once navy sofas sat adjacently and the television rambled on mute and ignored. Cries of laughter crept across the road and through the partially opened window, smashing the silence like glass. The wallpaper was patched and rusty; broken magnolia sheets awkwardly clung to where they were once so secure. The light bulb flickered desperately trying to sustain its luminosity, however eventually became too weak to shed its light. The room smelt alive; the strong scented beer bottles, collectively stacked, half empty; the gnawed and forgotten chicken bones buried beneath curry stained china dishes masked only by the chilled night breeze seeping slowly in. The atmosphere was razor sharp and vicious tension crackled suddenly as electricity swam silently above them. She said nothing; he said nothing. The air continued to sizzle, invisible to their eyes, apparent in their hearts.

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