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Writer's picturechambrayblue20

THE HOUSE ON THE HILL

SNAPSHOT ESCAPISM


Flickering fireflies in the night finally slept as summer's balmy evening gave way to night, and the bright light of the house of our conversation was a pinpoint and to the left of the gazing moon as it swept in and out through puffs of clouds in the black sky. We wondered, did the house's inhabitants see the moon playing hide and seek beneath the clouds as we did? Or were they too busy scrubbing the murder that happened there the night before with no time for such foolishness as gazing at the moon?


The murder. Screams were heard (or seemingly so) and lights went out and then, silence. Later a dim light flickered at the bottom of the house, probably the basement. We were sure that's where they had taken the body to do whatever they had to do to dispose of the human remains that had needed to be taken from this life.


We had been watching the place for years at night when the vibrant light of the secluded house danced with life. Every night it was something different. There were parties and affairs. Backyard burials and fights that broke out over stupid stuff. Mental patients collected there for a reprieve before prison time for taking the life of another. This was bound to happen eventually. Nothing good could come out of the house on the hill.



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