By: Maja De Garay


I can hear him, convinced he is still here.

His footsteps echo the empty halls,

his voice fills rooms from across the house.

He lies just around each corner, just inside

the next room over.

He leaves lights on, a trail of bright windows

weave the house like vines.

Always ahead.

Trees sway outside windows,

mere observers of the cruelest game.

The footsteps fade to dull thumps on hardwood,

the voice no longer any competition for the wind against the shingles.

The roar of my own heartbeat,

rushing against my ears,

straining to fill the silent void.

They begin again.


Maja wrote this as a senior at Saratoga Springs High School in Saratoga Springs, New York.  She currently attends the College of Saint Rose in Albany, New York.