weathered / evan fecko

Safe house

joseph razzano

As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, they widened in surprise. The inside of the house was not like the decayed exterior, reflecting nothing the ugly words of the town bore onto her. Because the smell was unique. The first hit was one of dust and mold and rotting wood, but had undertones of beautiful, french cooking. Because it was warm and dimly lit and a fire blazed in the fireplace to fill the room with dancing shadows. Because the stairs were grand and had carved designs that couldn’t go unnoticed. Because the carpets were foreign and had woven colors that the people in this small town couldn’t name. Because it seemed like a different world; I have never seen something so beautifully ancient in my life.

I feel safe.

• Category: Drawing, Prose