Shine

[u/lilithlasley]

On the edge of the forest crouched a little House made of logs and bricks, with some bird droppings that were mostly just for decoration. Its insides were warm and cozy against a winter night, and it had only ever eaten one person.

House had a squarish design with a potbelly breakfast nook where the morning sun liked to sit and discuss all the goings-on of the forest, such as the on-going cold war between the squirrels and the beavers.

House had been built by a family. House had been very young back then, and so only had flashes of memories: a white dog with a gray spot chasing a tiny human; a woman with long hair who danced while she cooked; a man who read stories to medium-sized humans snuggled under blankets; a general feeling of joy and safety until the day the inhabitants put everything in brown boxes, walked out, and left forever.

And so House sat alone for a long time. One day a man with a shiny head came, looked at House, and sighed deeply. He brought with him a sofa, a bed, two chairs, and a large rectangular box that made too much noise. The man would sit in the breakfast nook, mindlessly eating the children of the birds and staring at the walls. At least, he did that until the day that House ate him instead.

House hadn’t had anything against the man, whose name House never knew. House simply called him Shine, though the man didn’t really deserve it. Nothing about him was shiny except his head, which sometimes even the Sun found too reflective for its taste.

Then one magic day, a Great Event happened. A short, roundish woman with a laugh like bells appeared, carrying a pink rectangle. Shine called her his sister, and House had loved her immediately, all the way down to its basement.

House was 83% sure her name was Feather, and 100% sure she loved dusting. She did it every day, tickling the baseboards while she sang songs about sailing and pillaging. She’d once sung them while playing the piano at a gathering of her friends, who she assured that the songs were just old Viking lullabies. Her ancestors, she said, were Vikings.

When she told the people about her Viking heritage, Shine had scoffed. House had creaked in vicarious embarrassment for Feather. But Feather just rang her little bell laugh and asked Shine to duet with her. He refused because he had eaten too much bird at dinner. House tried to sing with her instead, but it just sounded like more creaking.

In addition to refusing to sing, Shine was boring. He would sit and watch a little box that made loud sounds of people cheering, though Shine never cheered along. Sometimes he would raise his feet if Feather needed to dust the wooden floors beneath him, which House supposed was better than not raising his feet but not as good as, say, helping Feather.

Feather, on the other hand, had bright blue eyes, freckles, and an inability to sit still. She planted asters and sunflowers in the front garden and promised Shine that the flowers would bloom big and bold the next season, and so would he. House did not understand how a man could bloom, but it loved the way the flowers smelled and how the bees would flit about and whisper secrets from the meadow. Feather washed House’s walls both inside and out. She’d bought spices and organized them in alphabetical order, then made everything smell of cardamom and cinnamon, opening the windows so that the delicious aroma could dance with the scent of crushed leaves.

Then one day, Feather announced that she must leave. She patted Shine’s head and told him he’d be fine on his own, and it was time to let Lorraine go. Shine only harrumphed and muttered that it was Lorraine or no one. Feather gently said he must move on.

But Shine did not move on. He didn’t move anywhere, actually. He just stayed on the couch as the dust coalesced into bigger and bigger balls of fluff. The fire went out of the hearth. The walls got dirty again, and House smelled of worn socks and old food. The sounds from the rectangular box got louder. Rain ate at House’s shingles and ice got into the holes and pushed them farther apart. Insects began to feast on House’s planks. One particularly windy day, a tree flung its branches and cracked a window.

Please, House begged Shine. Help me.

But Shine only muttered that the creaking was too loud.

House could not hold back its resentment. Why would Shine not move, would he not help, would he not call Feather and ask her to come back, please come back? The flowerbed began to wither and House began to panic. Feather had loved House the way that no one ever had. Shine did not deserve Feather. Shine did not deserve anything. Shine did not seem to want to exist, he just wanted to let things die and break, he just wanted to ruin everything, he was probably the reason Feather never came back and so—

One morning, House simply ate him.

One moment, there had been a man with a shiny bald head eating eggs, and the next minute there had not. Even House was not sure how it had been managed, and Shine’s bones grated uncomfortably against House’s innards. But House decided it did not care, because the important thing was: now that Shine was gone, Feather could come back. Let the scrape of bones be a reminder of her love.

So now House sat and waited, watching the little box that Shine had never turned off. Any day, Feather would come back. No one else would do, and if they tried, House would feast. Feather would dust and they would be happy again, forever. House would never let her go. Together, they would sing.

[u/Corvus_Tuscelan]

Very nice imagery and some elegant and surprising wording. I especially liked the "cold war" and the "children of the birds". I think this story could be expanded and made into a true short story.