Remnants (OFF #5)

He was an intruder in his own home.

He roamed the halls day in and day out. He sat in his chair. He searched his kitchen for his favorite snack. He laid in his bed and looked out his windows.

No one noticed him. No one looked up when he entered the room. No one bothered turning to him when he spoke. No one seemed to care that he existed.

It depressed him. He was worthless. He’d lost everything. Respect. Honor. Dignity.

Love.

He was starting to forget what she looked like. The sound of her voice was like a distant echo in his mind. Her features had long since gone fuzzy in his memory. Just a faded remnant of the beauty that she once was to him.

He wondered for the thousandth time where she was. He liked to imagine that she was still somewhere out there. That she was happy.

He liked to imagine she remembered him, even though no one else seemed to.

Perhaps especially since no one else seemed to.

He hadn’t lived an extraordinary life. He hadn’t been a hero. Nor a champion of justice. Or change. He hadn’t traveled the world or known fame or fortune. He’d spent every day he could remember right here in this little house on Orchard Street. His life had been quiet. Mundane. And he much preferred it that way.

But now, things were empty and gray and dull. Lifeless.

No one knew he was here.

No one cared to even look.

He stopped his trudging when he heard the keys in the lock on the front door. He braced himself. Perhaps, if he did his best to stand out, he would be noticed.

He stood beside the door, waiting for it to open, willing their eyes to see.