The old man sat staring into the night as the lights from passing cars lit the sky. No one ever stops at this small house surrounded by woods on a small highway that is used as the only way to transverse the distance between two towns with such a low population that they are sans post offices.
A dog sleeps on the back porch as the old man keeps to his nightly routine. A branch rubs up against a window on the side of the house, neither dog or old man are aware of the wind blowing the branches against the window.
The people in the cars driving from one place to the other, unaware of the old man and dog, drive never seeing this small house between two places you may never come across as you drive the freeways.
The man closes his eyes. He sees what others do not. He sees what was once here. The house that was hope but became a living grave…
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