What the room kept after everyone left
The room was quiet enough to hear the clock settle. It took a moment before the sound made sense again. The second hand caught, then went on.
A chair stood where it had been pushed back from the table. One leg was not straight. The table held the shape of what had been there: a ring of moisture, a folded paper, the edge of a plate lifted without being stacked. The paper stayed. It was folded twice, not opened.
The window had been left halfway. The latch was not set. Outside, the light thinned. Inside, the room changed little.
On the floor near the wall was a pair of shoes placed side by side, toes forward. They were not matched to anything else. The laces were tucked in. Dust gathered along the baseboard, slowly.
A cupboard door remained open by a few inches. Inside, cups waited on the shelf, one turned upside down, one on its side. A spoon lay on the counter. It had been set down without being rinsed. A pale mark curved away from it.
The clock sounded once more, then blended back into the room.
There had been a plant in the corner. It stayed. A leaf bent where it had been brushed. The soil was dry at the top. Earlier, water had missed the rim. The floor beneath was darker there, a shape that would need time.
A coat hung on the back of the other chair. The sleeve touched the seat. The fabric had settled into itself. The buttons were done. The pockets held nothing that made a sound.
Near the door, the light switch was smudged. It caught what was left of the day. The door was closed but not fully. The latch rested against the frame without catching.
On the table, the folded paper shifted once, then stopped. It stayed folded. No one read it.
The air moved from the window toward the cupboard and paused. It felt heavier near the table, where bodies had been, and cooler by the door.
When the light was gone, the room did not reach for it. The shoes did not turn. The coat did not fall. The plant leaned as it had before.
The room kept the space between the table and the chair. It kept the open cupboard. It kept the latch resting without closing.
It would keep these things until something else arrived, or until nothing did.
Aveline Moorwen