She was always there, the woman on the chair. She’d rock as she knit, the breeze blowing through her hair. Sometimes she’d have a cup of lemonade, sometimes a cup of wine. The flowers in their plots around her were simply divine.
Then one day when you looked out, she just wasn’t there anymore. The woman was missing from the chair; you gathered the courage to walk up to the door. You’d never made the effort to speak to her in your life; the reality that something might have happened cut you like a knife.
The front door stood open, though the screen door was shut. You tugged on it, your mind wanting to do anything but. You could see the room inside; so close, but you just wanted to hide.
You pulled the door open.
What did you find?
(I don’t own this photo either; it’s a stock photo from sxc.hu)