She always sat by the window. The view from there was good. She could see the street, the houses and the people. She loved watching the kids play. She smiled at them. No one smiled back. Yet she smiled, always.
She took her place by the window well before the first rays of sunlight entered her empty home. She sat there till all the shadows had disappeared into the darkness. She wasn’t old. But she wasn’t young. Her skin was pale. So pale that you could almost see through.
I have been playing on this street ever since I can remember. I am ten now. That house has always been there. Deserted and unapproachable. It is in shambles. Every part of it is falling apart.
A very nice plot. Yet, it belongs to none. And no one wants to go near it. Some kids tried to break in once. The rats must have scared them away. But they insist they saw a ghost. No one lives there now. I am certain of that.
Yet, everyday I see a face at the window. Smiling, always.