Chapter Text
In their home, it was empty.
Not completely, but it was void of any life, in the literal sense.
Yet, the home still seemed full. There was certainly evidence of life.
There was the kitchen.
Take the fridge, for example: it was stocked with all of their favorite food, from leftover matzanga and chicken soup to fruit salad and kosher chocolate cake.
On the counter, an opened ABBA vinyl sat next to a plugged-in record player.
On the table were rings from glasses and bottles covered in condensation that left their marks on the wooden surface, their curved lines going against the otherwise natural parallel grains of the wood.
In the living room, there were depressions on the couch from where people had sat, and a smushed pillow from someone leaning on it for comfort.
The coffee table had a half-drank glass of lukewarm water, and the impression of lips was left on the rim.
In the bathroom, the toilet seat was still left up from someone hurling into the bowl.
The toothbrushes in the cup on the sink had messy bristles, and were left facing each other haphazardly.
The curtain of the bathtub was still pulled aside, and two towels were left on the hanger next to it. One was hung neatly, while the other was wrung through the bar and the wall without care.
In the bedroom, the bed was messy on both sides, the last occupants having left their shapes in the mattress and blankets.
On either side of the bed was a nightstand. On the right, the nightstand had an orange pill bottle. It was open, and had some pills missing. The prescription on the sticker was faded, as the bottle happened to sit directly in the sun from the adjacent window.
The left nightstand had a small calendar, opened for the month of May, despite the fact that it was June. It had various dates circled. Jewish holidays were labeled in blue, and other events were in red. One date, May 26th, was circled in red and labeled as “Jason’s bar mitzvah!!!” in blue. Next to the calendar was a mug, which had a crude painting on it of a man and his son. Shaky handwriting on the side said “ Marvin and Jason Hate Baseball! ” Inside the mug was long-dried coffee. It stained the inside of the white mug brown. There was a coffee-colored path from the bottom to where a drinker would receive the coffee between their lips.
The window in the room was cracked open half an inch, the screen keeping bugs and other small wildlife away. It allowed fresh air to waft into the otherwise dead room.
At the front door, there were pairs of shoes against the wall, all in various stages of wear-and-tear. Above them, two coats hung: one faux brown leather jacket, and one green blazer. They were right on top of each other, blissfully unaware that they may never be used again.
The home was empty and full of the life that had been lived within it.