I was at my desk again. My pen hovered on the page I had opened.Blank. Absolutely blank, my mind,the page, both were blank.
The distant sound of the carpenter came through my window in a heartfelt tango with the evening air.
The sheets of papers on my desk slid off by the coaxing of the wind.
I ignored them. Blank. They all were reminding me of how I had nothing to write.
The white sheet stared back at me and the ink on the tip of the pen stained it’s purity.
Defeated, I stood from the table to the window to see the world around me.
A lonely country side. The grass spread as far as the eye could see and farms dotted the regions all around. The sound of nailing reached my ears again.
The carpenter. He knew everyone and everyone knew him. He learnt his trade from his father who, according to stories the carpenter told, also learnt from his father.
He never ceased to raise his head in a silent prayer to the heavens. A good hearted man yet without a child and a bride of his own.
My own wedding came to mind and I shrugged the thought away quickly. It cannot be as bad as I thought, I encouraged myself.
Night had fallen, I stood again at my window looking at the fields. The carpenter passed below.
His movement was laboured and his bag of tools slung over his shoulder. He stopped and looked up with a smile and tipped his hat to me.
I smiled back and with a slight wave of my hand I retreated, mostly embarrassed at being caught. I slipped under my sheets and fell asleep.
The carpenter looked up and smiled at the young woman at her window.
A beautiful young woman he thought as he tipped his hat to her and watched in amusement as she recoiled into her room and he walked on.
Father was right he thought. This makes me happy and keeps food on my table. He shifted the load from one shoulder to the other.
The moon waltzed across the dark night sky and shone a gentle light over the sleeping world.
The window of his store room hung open,forgotten and the moonlight stole it’s way inside.
The half completed furniture was scattered all over the room and it smelled like decaying flesh to the point of being nauseating
The rats on the floor scurried at the thought of being found out. Those on the walls nibbled on the faces of the heads that has been hung up on the wall.
The blood dripped off the newest addition, down the walls to the ground and the rats cooled their thirsts.
The heads of the people who the carpenter had killed hung on the walls with nails in their forehead and eye sockets to keep them in place.