All Nonfiction Bullying Books Academic Author Interviews Celebrity interviews College Articles College Essays Educator of the Year Heroes Interviews Memoir Personal Experience Sports Travel & CultureAll Opinions Bullying Current Events / Politics Discrimination Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking Entertainment / Celebrities Environment Love / Relationships Movies / Music / TV Pop Culture / Trends School / College Social Issues / Civics Spirituality / Religion Sports / Hobbies
- Summer Guide
- College Guide
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Personal Experience
- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
- Community Service
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
He sat in the rocking chair across the kitchen like a human statue
His eyes puffy with bags that dragged all the way to the bottom of his nose,
his left eye twitched as it tried to open;
it was evident that he was lacking sleep.
He stared straight across never moving his head;
it was as if he had not a single care in the world.
What sat across from him was the kitchen.
He couldn’t for a moment take his saggy, sore eyes off of that kitchen entrance.
There had been a lifetime of memories built in that kitchen,
his face uncovered that and much more.
Besides the constant twitching,
he wouldn’t even blink, not forcefully or humanly.
The kitchen he gazed at had the most ravishing hardwood floor
which consisted of dark shades of brown tiles.
The dishes were piled up and it seemed as though if one more dirty plate were to go on top,
the set would collapse.
The fruits in the fruit tray that lay on the shiny marble counter were rotting.
With each minute that passed,
one more fruit fly would surround the bundle of fruit,
but it was clear that he hadn’t even stopped to notice.
He and his fruits were slowly deteriorating.
There was one, just one window in the kitchen that didn’t even do its job.
No sunshine, no clouds, nothing.
It was covered by unusual purple drapes and looking at it,
there was no doubt that the grey spectacles that lay lightly on the surface of each ripple of the curtain,
The curtains hadn’t been opened in the while.
There was no reason as to why the window was there if it didn’t serve a good purpose;
but it was.
The emptiness of the room filled with cold winter air that spoke volumes.
There indeed was a wanted soul missing from the kitchen.