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room’s curtains are drawn, the source of the darkening. A mother lies there with labored Ian Hallford, ‘17 breath and pounding heart, younger than the father but far more aged. Unwilling though The rain fell as it had for many weeks she is, no matter how she might scream and prior upon the sloped roofs of a nondescript rage, the source of this heaviness inexorably suburban neighborhood, projecting an driving a wedge between the four corners atmosphere of stifling silence. Pattering, of the house is her. The kitchen’s heart lies pattering it falls, slipping over the roof ’s lip, cold and still now, no longer throbbing with dripping down the gutter, and rushing out jubilant energy. Though some remnants persist the drain pipe, pooling in a poorly drained — a joke about better days gone past or some gravel bed uniformly grey as the clouds above. small meal cooked and eaten together — the The house itself was distinctly faded to those truth hangs unyielding over the house. Life who knew it, despite its relatively untouched can never be the same. The front door’s iron beige paint, standing in twilight between rusts away gradually in the rain and wind, the glowing events of its past and the grim corroded piece by piece by reality of its present. A common house, The doors remain open but an greater powers. Close once, now no longer, trapped aluminum sided unspoken barrier stands betwixt, but beneath a truth most somber, and rectangular, the sickness of one body traversing a home becomes a house. the front appears The rain falls, the wind into the minds of all four. orderly enough, shifts, and a home becomes drought-resistant a house. Slowly, silently, sorrowfully, a home plants well-contained to their respective becomes a house. beds, but a distinct aura of subtle disorder pervades the scene. The rear, invisible to the typical onlooker, is choked with weeds, the few remaining cultivated flowers wild and unkempt. The sound of the rain rolls through the narrow halls, a march of resounding finality in tandem with the beating hearts of those within. There is laughter still but broken and defiant, a wan shadow. Rain drums against four windows, four corners, four rooms, four individuals. The doors remain open but an unspoken barrier stands betwixt, the sickness of one body traversing into the minds of all four. Light reaches still through the windows of the first three, casting in stark relief the figures of a father, a son, and a daughter. The daughter and son are close, sharing interests and comfort to ward off a creeping, insidious hollowness. The father stands apart, shoulders heaving beneath the weight of his burden, pride denying him assistance. The fourth

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Profile for Jesuit High School

Moorings  

Jesuit High School Literary Arts Journal Spring 2017 | Volume 1 | No.1

Moorings  

Jesuit High School Literary Arts Journal Spring 2017 | Volume 1 | No.1

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