Devonne Brown

“I’m home,” Liza said walking through the door of her house. Nobody answered, nobody was there. “I’m home,” she sighed. The silence that greeted her made her smile. She set her bag on the floor beside the china cabinet and heard the faint rattle of the dishes within its wooden walls. The cat sauntered from the kitchen and nodded a hushed hello. 

Liza turned off her phone and watched its face go black. There was no need to speak with anyone this evening. She’d spoken enough during the day. Any words she had in her she would write. The day was hers now. Her obligations had been fulfilled. 

Liza changed her clothes. She traded the trappings of the high falutin heels and polyester for fleece and fur lined slippers. The bra was the first to go. She had been uplifted long enough. The cat jumped on her bed to play with her cast off clothing and chase the warmth of the new. He was happy she was home, but had nothing to say about it. His purr was enough. 

Liza lit a fire in the hearth. She watched the flames grow higher and warmer, they kept the darkness at bay. The crackle of the fire filled silence like the light filled the gloom. She was wrapped in the cocoon of sanctuary. She would make hot tea with bourbon, a trick she learned in England a long, long time ago. Warm herself on the inside as well.

I’m home thought Liza. The cat rubbed past her legs. She was safe and warm on the inside and out. Her own special kind of ukiyo, as they say in Japan.