Flickering Light

Maggie Gibbons stood in her cramped kitchen, the letter from city hall crumpling beneath her grip. A sharp line of red—DENIED—cut across the paper like a curse. The apple cobbler cooling on the counter filled the air with cinnamon and butter, but even the warmth of that familiar smell couldn’t banish the chill that twisted in her stomach. Outside, the sun slid lower, turning the neighborhood gold. The laughter of kids playing in the street floated up to her window, but it sounded like a ghost of a sound, distant and thin.

She glanced out the window, catching sight of her own reflection—hollow-eyed, lips tight. Below, kids chased a battered football over the cracked pavement, darting between empty houses like sparrows among ruins. Maggie had grown up here; she’d watched the neighborhood bloom and wither like the lilac bushes that lined the old schoolyard. The factory closing two years back had gutted the place, taking jobs, families, and hope. What remained were boarded windows, “For Sale” signs, and the stubborn few who clung on.