The house where the clock stopped.

The table is neatly set for a meal. Perhaps breakfast is cooking out of sight. Bacon and eggs are sizzling in a cast-iron skillet that has been handed down generations and is seasoned to perfection. Biscuits are baking in the oven.

A woman dressed in a pink floral house coat wrapped around her curves and slippers watches as she sways to the music. The radio is turned to an AM radio station playing “Crying” by Roy Orbison, which you can barely hear through the crackle of the signal. The hums to the music she slowly begins to sing… That I’d been crying over you… as she loads laundry.

She walks over to the window looking out. She fixes her long wavy blonde hair back into a bun. She thinks when are they returning. The table is set. The breakfast is nearly ready. They are late. She looks at the lane expecting to see an old Ford pick-up clatter up it. No one comes. She goes to the door walking out of it slowly becoming a mist in the predawn sky.

The house has been abandoned for over a decade. The kitchen was frozen in time and found by hunters looking for shelter from a storm. They found the house overgrown on the outside yet the inside was untouched by time. No one knows why. If the walls could only talk, then what would they say?