A/N: The title refers to the ichneumon fly:'any of numerous wasplike insects of the family Ichneumonidae, the larvae of which are parasitic on caterpillars and immature stages of other insects'. Minor spoilers for Aliens In A Spaceship; the word count here seems to be a little off. It was exactly a hundred on Microsoft Word, though.
This is for the drabble challenge on LJ, for lostakasha's prompt: The Weary One by Pablo Neruda.
there are too many rooms in this house, you think bitterly, and all of them are empty. The doors, two of them ajar, stand quietly in the vastness of your concrete cave.
You choose one, turning the steel-cold knob. The waterbed undulates beneath, rippling around fingers pressed into its side. The ceiling is bare—in your room she'd painted swirling Van Gogh stars.
You can't look at them any more: you see her eyes; her hands; her smile. You see apparitions flitting around the room, the quiet laughter of ghosts long past.
(there's a jar, filled with earth, standing on a shelf. It's the dirt that bore the carbon-rich markers, the dirt that her perfume graced; the dirt that presses your eyelids shut in every nightmare.)