The Empty House
A/N: This is my first ever multi-chapter; and was actually written as my English assignment. The topic was-'Write A Story Titled "The Empty House" and this came to mind. When I gave it in to my teacher; she gave it back to me and she had written; "You just have to bring in Clary and Jace don't you?;)" But she also said that it was a good story; but I should try and focus more on the house itself. Hence; the second part of this chapter. Enjoy ^^
-A
(No I do not like Pretty Little Liars; I have to sue that show for stealing my signature)
He walked into a silent room, all eyes on him. He smirked at them all and a girl on his right fainted in shock. "Mindless freaks," he thought to himself, "swooning over someone who is just as human ad they are."
He brushed past all of them and settled on a seat at the back. Next to him was the only girl who hadn't looked up when he'd walked in. Her fiery read hair covered most of her face and her hand furiously scribbled across the sketchpad in front of her.
He was ambidextrous, he noticed as she flicked the two pencils between her hands and worked on opposite sides of the paper.
She was juggling a black pencil and red pencil in her right, flicking her wrist occasionally to change the pencil she was using - almost as if using one at a time would take too long.
Almost subconsciously, he brushed away the stray red curl that threatened to spill over, earning a collective gasp from on-lookers. He had never done this to anyone before.
He tucked it behind her ear and her head snapped to the right. Her emerald green eyes were blazing and brimmed with un-shed tears, accentuating the lush colour her eyes held. She was beautiful. He'd never seen someone so breathtaking. Freckles dotted her face and he wanted to reach out and join them together, almost certain the pattern formed would be as beautiful as she was.
His hand clutched another strand of hair and he twirled it around in calloused fingers, fascinated by how the light enhanced the colour of her hair and fell down on it, illuminating it.
In a flash, she jumped up and ran out, not bothering to give any explanation. Her sketchbook lay abandoned on the table. He got up to go return it, but what she had drawn caught her eye.
She had drawn a house. On the left side was the outside, and it was a typical family home; complete with a tire swing on the tree. But the right side was what intrigued him. It was the inside of the house, completely furnished; but it looked like it had been a long time since someone had lived there.
In the far right corner, 2 shadows could be seen. One ,seemed to be watching as the other walked away from them. His thumb grazed the scribble of a title on the left corner. It read "The Empty House".
Her hand brushed across the beige couch; though-with the amount of dust on it, one would've assumed it was a dull grey. She had beautiful memories on this couch; she could still see her 6 year old self giggling at yet another one of her brother's antics. In this particular memory, she had fallen on her father due to uncontrollable laughter, her red curls a stark contrast on his black shirt. he had picked her up an replaced his laptop with her- and started pulling her curls back; before reaching behind him for a once abandoned hair tie.
But no-one sat on this couch and did her hair any-more. No-one made her laugh till she had to lean on some-one for support. Once again; she blinked away tears that threatened to spill.
She moved onto the adjoining room; and slowly opened the doors, wincing as it creaked. The creak brought a sense of normality to her. Her brother had lammed the door behind him many times after yet another row with their mother; and he would stick his head out exactly a half hour later, white-blonde hair shadowing his eyes; beckoning her to come in, and the pair would lie on his bed for hours-talking about everything and nothing all at once.
She lay down on the bed; wincing once again as the wood creaked. From the corner of her eye, she could see his guitar-black splattered red. He had said that the black represented his sister's (her) soul-and the red, her hair. She'd chased him around the house for an hour before her mother grabbed her and brushed away the tears; explaining to her how the red was her best feature. To make up for it; her brother spent endless hours teaching he to play said string instrument and the two would jam together; driving their parents up the wall. Her father always said that the only mistake that his wife had made was allowing her son to teach their only sane child that blasted instrument.
"She was so much calmer when she was drawing."
She'd be fifteen when they last played. She was sixteen now; and there was no brother to play with-no parents to annoy. Just her and her sketchbook.
She sighed and walked out; careful not to slam the door. She went out to the backyard and sat on the swing. her right leg dangled out the swing; occasionally hitting the ground to keep up the momentum.
As she swung; she looked back at the house. A house that she called home for 16 years now. When people passed by their house then-it was impossible to see the Morgernstern House sans the lights. She never turned on the lights now. She enjoyed the solitude the dark offered.
In the beginning, people stepped up to offer their supports and condolences; but that soon stopped. After all, who in their right mind would expect an answer to the doorbell of The Empty House?