Amy could walk by each entrance, window, turret, aisle and room in the stone mansion, blindfolded.
The old circular clock struck every hour but now had decayed due to age and neglect. The grand old
lady was now graying , withered and weak.
Twenty five summers ago the facade was snow white , invincible and brimming with life. The
golden Sun reflected its radiance on the building and at night each window shone with light. People
and horse carriages crowded the grand entrance with their liveliness. The occupants and the wealthy
owners added charm to the village.
Stopping by the mansion, en-route to the post-office, Amy would reminisce about the halcyon days.
The postman had requested Amy not to venture out of her little cottage. The mild arthritis and
walking stick made the journey even more painful for Amy. But she sauntered out of her cottage just
to have a glimpse of the old mansion.
Amy had worked in the mansion as a household help.
The wealthy owners had long moved to the city and the next generation had migrated to foreign
Amy's only son had faithfully had accompanied the owner.
The frequency of her son's mails had become erratic.
The postmaster did not have the heart to break the news of her only son's death; her sole hope of
living and survival.
written for : Flash Fiction for Aspiring Writers.
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