Photo Prompt © Sandra Crook
That tatty lace was once so pretty. It covered those tall windows, and the light would shine brightly in the early evening.
The sun still smiles, but there’s no-one to see it here in this house.
Then the house was a home.
The walls and the doors were painted in rich and bold colours.
The garden was glorious with many exotic flowers, bushes and vegetables. And beyond, those magnificent trees would often seem to sing.
But that was a long time ago.
Would you see a ghost sometimes?
Would you hear a strange knock in the night?
Maybe? Maybe not.
~~~~~
Thanks to Rochelle for hosting Friday Fictioneers
Genre: Historical Fiction
Word Count: 100
luna's on line 
When the house was a home the house was happy, then. I hope a family with children would rent her, fix her up.
Or perhaps a ghost for a tenant? It’d bring back happiness for sure. This is lovely Chris. Happy I read.
LikeLike
Love this – you capture a sense of melancholy and decay with a very delicate touch and sensory detail ♥️
LikeLiked by 1 person
I second poetisatinta’s comment, Chris!
LikeLike
Times come and go. Times change. Good capture of before and after Chris.
LikeLike
A lovely take Chris.
LikeLike