The sun set in a valley of waste. The skeletons of buildings that once stood tall stuck out of the dry dirt, like crooked fingers, reaching for the sky. The house on Ninth Street still stood. It didn’t have a roof anymore. The stairs led to empty space where bedrooms once were. The tiles of the bathroom were corroded and broken. The toilet ran dry and the sink held rust. Among the broken furniture, ground to dust, were two crumbling walls with yellowed and charred wallpaper. It was here that shadows graced the walls. Some had arms spread out, another cowered in the corner. Two were smaller than the rest; children, and the last was old and feeble with a hunched back. The wind blew poisoned air. Only ash remained. The shadows that graced the walls would forever be still. Black ghosts, stained memories of the people they once were.