The walls breathed sadness; the house missed the loving days. As when he carried her, laughing, across its threshold. Feeling their desire warm the coldness of empty rooms. The house thrived on their contentment and togetherness.

But something changed; winter crept in, displacing summer. Ice coated its windows; froze their hearts.

The house did not understand divorce; everything was to be split down the middle; equal shares. The walls shrieked; the chainsaw was louder.

The house’s final complete thought: who would be getting which half of the dog?

postcard prose for Rachel’s Friday Fictioneers writing prompt

photo prompt © Ted Strutz

From Rachel’s post:

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