POST CARDS FROM THE MUSE
By Nandy Ekle
From the outside the building stands tall and quiet. It’s been there for nearly a century, resting, as it slides back to the earth. The windows are dark, the brick is crumbling, and the doors are tagged with graffiti.
As I stand on the doorstep, the oppressive heat consumes the air and I feel as if I am suffocating. I reach up to wipe sweat from my brow and the door on the bottom floor of the old building clicks open.
Peeking inside I find a room with no furnishings whatsoever. The concrete floor is covered with plaster which has fallen from the sheet rocked walls. All around is gray, except the spots directly across from the dusty windows. These spots sport bright sunlight which magnify the dust motes floating through the space.
I turn and walk deeper into the building. The heat is just as harsh without the benefit of a breeze. However, there seems to be plenty more air than existed outside, but the mustiness causes couches to bubble up from my lungs.
The first sight I had of the dark and dilapidated room was that of ancient decay. But then I see movement in the far corner of the room. I follow the line of sight and notice the only color in the place, the only sign of life present.
A single red balloon floats ten feet high as its string descends to the dirty gray floor.
Now, Dear Blog Follower, your job is to finish the story. How did the balloon get there and what does it mean?
Congratulations. You have just received a post card from the muse.