Aug 21, 2020
@refurfadir
“Thank you for coming, Falk. I can take things over from here,” Sam said, eyes lingering on the furniture. His mother’s old throw blanket is still draped over her favorite arm chair by the fire place, the charred wood cold since the burial was done the other week. A peaceful death whilst asleep.
The book keep wasn’t doing as well as the facade he’s put on through the whole process. Old friends and a few distant relatives had come to pay their respects, giving him hugs that felt too tight, and pats on his back while saying What a brave and good son you are. They didn’t know that Sam barely slept at night, now that the house felt too silent, save for the occasional creaks and scratches the cellar monster made.
