General

Camping out in a house full of boxes, only a sleeping bag, a kettle and a tin of biscuits unpacked, dust bunnies the size of golf balls behind moved furniture, unfettered light streams in through bare windows, dust swirls in the white morning light.

General

Cardboard boxes scrawled on in black broad felt-tip marker, bare walls devoid of the usual smiling framed faces, dirt and dust shapes on the floor like templates of the furniture that once stood there, white parcel labels stuck on black garbage bags of clothes, as each thing is packed the home becomes a house once more, awaiting a new life with a new family.

By angela, February 24, 2012.
General

It was the day. The day of moving. The day everything, they knew would be gone. Familiarity would be a memory locked away in an old dusty wooden box, to be reopened ten years later, simply to reminisce.

By aps99, March 29, 2018.