Theo Springs

art of decay

The cabin in the woods had been abandoned for years, but one night, a candle burned in the window. The sentence sits on the page in an uneven, typewriter font. There is nothing but an off-white emptiness after the punctuation, space where words should be but aren’t. Elliot’s fingers stay frozen over the keys, worn and faded from years of use. Not his use, but remnants of the previous owner, whoever that had been. Probably the last sorry soul to reside in this cabin with hopes of clearing their head long enough to finish their manuscript.