Demise of Number 14

We've lived on this street for ten years now, approximately. No one's lived at number 14 for most of those.

We'd walk past in the evenings and see the setting sun reflected in the windows, which made it look like someone was inside.

But the broken blinds and flaking stucco walls, the cracking concrete and the unattended weeds, the ever growing collection of Messenger newspapers lying in the driveway, spoke of emptiness.

I've stared into those windows from the footpath, imagining some lonely person sitting in a darkened room inside, staring out, while their Messenger newspapers slowly turn to mush.

And their roses doggedly bloom, pink and red.

Now the house at number 14 has been pulled down. All that remains is a pile of rubble, and that too will soon be gone.

But for just a few days last week, when the house was still standing but the roof was gone, daylight poured in, illuminating the delicate lilac pink and lavender painted interior walls.