The key turns.
The lock clicks.
The air inside smells of much-loved books and lemon soap she used this morning. Her shoulders drop, a weight she hadn’t realised she was carrying — her handbag slides to the floor.
“I’m home,” she whispers to the quiet, and the quiet, for the first time all day, whispers back.
Written for Microdosing Fiction on Substack “We’re Home”. Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT text or captioned. Images are copyright and not to used without permission, which I willingly give when asked, and when not for commercial use. Imagery and poems/prose ©Misky 2006-2025.
It's Still Life 
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