Work Text:
Crash!
An errant rock soars through the newly made passage into the tiny brownstone. The razor edges of broken glass fail to keep coherency, fracturing to let in the weakly spring dawn light.
A young boy stands agape, a witness to the consequences of his actions. A frantic glance around, and tiny sneakers squeak on the weathered pavement as their owners dash away from the scene. He didn’t want to be grounded after all!
A trickle of air tickles the stillness of the home, a welcome breeze of freshness to disrupt the stuffiness. In her bed, a woman stirs briefly, before returning to her sated slumber. After all, there was no need to rush when one was 86.
In the light of day, the breach is noticed. With a step stool and some effort, the elderly homeowner attempts the best repair she could afford. Clear packing tape grips onto the ragged edges and pulls taut, prepared to fight friend and for alike to keep the house a fitting home.
Spring turns to summer. The blazing sun beats down on the cracked pavement, as daring verdant blades peak above their grey oppressors. The heat causes the plastic to ease, slightly stretching with the cheery winds that visit with some frequency. The adhesive wins the fight with some effort, clawing to its new best friend with feverish fervor. It succeeds, beating back the fiendish winds and creating a barrier to the detritus of the city streets.
Summer surrenders to fall, and the first cracks of failure begin to form. The heat had taken its toll, and now the cold arrives to complete the dastardly deed. Caressing tendrils of mild autumn winds enter the abode uninvited, though not wholly unwelcome. After all, it saved the expense of a fan.
Clawing blasts of winter tear at the fragile stopgap. Fragments of polymer depart their home, shards of security and warmth scattered to the seven seas. Inside the antique brick structure, a frail form huddles in her bed. The blankets were thinner every year, and her handmade quilt must be losing its stuffing. The heat can be cranked up, sure, but then how would she be able to afford anything else? Even cream of mushroom soup can only stretch so far. With emancipated arms and complaining joints, she can no longer patch the unwanted entryway into her home. All that is left is to hope and pray for salvation.
Frost blooms across the panes, and creeps inside the humble abode. Dazzling gifts from the heavens flutter inside their new home, gilding all surfaces with a crystal glow. Colors mute to white, as the storm of the decade rampages across the city.
In her bed, an 87 year old woman is cocooned in her lovingly hand made quilt, a relic of a wistful and carefree youth. It had followed its creator though the years, from eager anticipation and gleeful joy to bitter regrets and silent grief. Now, it rests in peace, with nary a breath to disrupt its rightful slumber.
As Widow Shoemacker enters her final bed, wrapped in her beloved patchwork companion, little eyes fill with sorrow. How could one feel so alone in a crowd of beloved neighbors?