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Description
Photographs

The door swung open, a musty smell in the air. Retro wallpaper covered the walls, peeling in places. Old portraits hung off crooked nails, covered in a thin veil of dust. A man, middle aged, stood in the doorway. His eyes scoured the room through well worn glasses. Sheets covered the tables and chairs, floral upholstry visible near the floor. He stepped past a pile of old newspapers and walked down the hallway. Ghosts of ages past stared at him through oil paintings and black and white photographs. He studied one of the faces in a photograph. Comfort was given by the familiar set of eyes, forever staring into the hallway.

He opened the bedroom door, revealing a large, Victorian style bed, complete with canopy. Bedstands stood on either side of the bed. A desk and a bookcase were pushed up against the opposite wall. A window, frosted with dust, allowed an eerie light into the room. He moved slowly towards the bookcase. Scanning the shelves, he breathed heavily. It had to be there. Thick volumes blended together. Panic gripped his chest. Finally, he found it. Relief flowed into his lungs. He opened the album and flipped through the pages. Picture after picture of those same familiar eyes. He smiled inwardly. His mother was gone, but he would not forget her. He tucked the album under his arm and left for the door. As he exited the house, he turned back and whispered into the empty room, "Goodbye, Mom. I love you."

Description
Photographs

The door swung open, a musty smell in the air. Retro wallpaper covered the walls, peeling in places. Old portraits hung off crooked nails, covered in a thin veil of dust. A man, middle aged, stood in the doorway. His eyes scoured the room through well worn glasses. Sheets covered the tables and chairs, floral upholstry visible near the floor. He stepped past a pile of old newspapers and walked down the hallway. Ghosts of ages past stared at him through oil paintings and black and white photographs. He studied one of the faces in a photograph. Comfort was given by the familiar set of eyes, forever staring into the hallway.

He opened the bedroom door, revealing a large, Victorian style bed, complete with canopy. Bedstands stood on either side of the bed. A desk and a bookcase were pushed up against the opposite wall. A window, frosted with dust, allowed an eerie light into the room. He moved slowly towards the bookcase. Scanning the shelves, he breathed heavily. It had to be there. Thick volumes blended together. Panic gripped his chest. Finally, he found it. Relief flowed into his lungs. He opened the album and flipped through the pages. Picture after picture of those same familiar eyes. He smiled inwardly. His mother was gone, but he would not forget her. He tucked the album under his arm and left for the door. As he exited the house, he turned back and whispered into the empty room, "Goodbye, Mom. I love you."