Writing Prompt: Sometimes at dusk we would see him come out from the hidden interior of his…
Writing Time: 15 mins
Sometimes at dusk we would see him come out from the hidden interior of his ramshackle home. Never in the morning. Never at noon. Only at dusk. The place was a rustic cabin, aged and uncared for over the years. In the evening, when the daylight was fully spent, the soft, flickering lights emanating through the windows suggested candles. None of us had ever seen inside so it was only speculation.
When I was especially young – five, six, seven years old – I assumed he was old and the sightings in the gray of twilight did nothing to correct that assumption. My sister, two years older, and I would huddle at the window of our sun room to watch. The crowns of our blonde heads down to our eyes were as much as we dared to show of ourselves. We’d whisper our guesses of who he was, always certain we hadn’t hit on the correct answers.
An escaped convict hidden away from the authorities. A man who ran away from an abusive family years and years ago, still afraid. A rogue spy who had enough of the lies and secrets and just wanted to be left alone.
The truth was nothing like our adventurous imaginings.
When I was fourteen, I realized he was young – maybe thirty or thirty-five. He moved into that cabin behind our backyard when he was twenty-three.