A Dusty Room

The couch beside the fireplace was sagged, the candlesticks spilled across the floor just inches away from it. The carpet registered our shoe imprints in the thick layered dust as we walked on it. The sole window in the room had the glass cut wide open - the place from where the intruder had barged in. It allowed light only enough to illuminate the table below it, which was covered with shards of glass from the broken window. The chair had a twisted leg and was sprawled between the fireplace and desk. It still carried an unmistakable reddish hue on the top splat amidst the dust covering it otherwise. That was where he had hit his head after losing his balance over the fireplace. In the corner of the room lay bundles of books in a heap under the bookshelf which suggested the failed attempts of the murderer and the police to find the formula for which my uncle had been killed. Beside the books lay a portrait of him, which the killer had smashed due to apparent frustration, above it was a dull imprinting of where it had once hung and the slightly dark hue of wall surrounding it as it had been painted only a few days before his death.  A little ahead of the chair was the chalk outline of his final position before he breathed his last. We cleared the dust and eyed the full outline of body. The legs were spread wide open and a hand was beside the body while the other hand clearly pointed towards the piano which was placed against the opposite wall. We lifted the old and heavy sheet off the piano and shook it to release the dust. In the thick cloud of dust that arose, we couldn’t stop the framed picture above the piano to get hit and fall down. A tiny scroll of paper rolled out as we stood there in silence. I stared at the wall which had the picture hung on it and was amazed to see it had uniform paint on it. I smiled at the outline, he was always clever..