Wildes Writing

Tim Wildes

I walked into the house, not knowing whose it was.

I saw family photos, a child’s art, and plenty of cans of dog food.

I went into the kitchen, grabbed a beer, and sat on the floor.

I started the counting then-

counting the flies.

I heard a noise upstairs and jumped, then realized they were probably more scared of me than I was of them.

I heard crying.

I heard sobbing.

I think I heard laughter but didn’t know where it came from.

He was in the corner, head to the floor.

“Who let you down here?”

“Who… let you down here?”

Art by Oetsuru