The Twilight Twenty-Five
Pen name: LightStarDusting
He hadn't moved from the bench in hours. He sat, immobile, staring at the door.
The microwave still had 43 seconds left on it from last night, when she took her food out before the time ran out.
They hadn't fought. They couldn't fight because he was never there to have the conversation.
Their son was the piano player in the family. Attention turns to children and often talents are forgotten or lay dormant for years.
He lowered his hands to the keys and tried to play.
Time ran out.
The walls were closing in.
And his muse was gone.