Green

Is it too much or just right? Little piece of fun I wrote a while ago.

Outside the window, the world was painted a sickly shade of green; the tree full of life, the snapped rope of the swing that we used to play on with its now aged, crocodile-skin-like colouring. The inside of the glass was not much better; having inherited this mansion recently, the interior was still a hideous shade of olive. The portraits on the walls sneered with tea-tinted teeth within their pine frames. The copper handrails along the walls had long since been abandoned, oxidizing to the point it appeared as if they had rusted, leaving mossy mould to slug around the once smooth edges. Most of the older ornaments in the house held a greenish sheen as if it had once flooded, leaving behind seaweed mildew throughout every room.

The steady decay was slowly tainting the latest additions. By the grand entrance, muddy boots that were army green before arriving now appeared as fungus in the place they sat every day, abandoned by the wearer. Trails of emerald beads created a creepy matrix on the khaki floorboards. In the corner beneath the telephone, a mountain of dairies with a page dedicated to each day, with a metallic pen positioned atop ready to use. In the light, due to the various shades around the room, the marker seemed like a sea-glass.

A cloud of light dust adorned the forest carpets as all the help had left when the new owner arrived; footprints padded in set pathways as if avoiding yellow snow or carefully treading through a bog. Leaning against the walls were a collection of timeworn violin cases, not a single one with a speck of dust decorating the exterior and each one a deeper shade of juniper. Pinned to the wall was sheet music with pencil marks over each section with the original instructions barely visible. Positioned slightly out of view behind the last music case was a tennis racket, with a bold, mint neoteric design and a well-worn handle as if it were used frequently. Yet the house was quiet as if no one lived there, and the sole occupant preferred it that way; the large grandfather clock with its lime face and sage wood had not ticked since their arrival.