The quiet house creaked as the rushing wind outside blew past it. The old paint chipped a little more as the decrepit building was hit by tiny pebbles, a small twig, and some leaves. The rain falling down outside beat against the ground in fast, quick bursts, slowly forming puddles in the pot holes that lined the drive way up to the old house. The porch swing hung by one chain in a sign of disrepair, disuse, and destruction.

The yard outside the home was unkempt, with the flower bushes having long wilted into thin, pathetic strands of dead plant material, the grass of the lawn had grown to a ridiculous length, the tan-brown hue giving away the fact that it had not been cared for in years. A small ecosystem of spiders, snakes, moles and other creatures had made the field its habitat and now called it home, each species struggling to survive in the dilapidated, unkempt garden that was now theirs.

The steps leading up to the front door were cracked and creaked under the slightest weight. The rot riddled wood was one heavy step away from giving way and shattering into sharp splinters. The hand railing that one would use for support as they climbed the steps was loose and shook in the wind as well, threatening to topple over into the dirt beside the staircase.

The front door of the home had at one time been a red door but time and the elements had shaven away the paint leaving a wooden husk of rotted wood. The lock and doorknob had rusted in the rain and wind, making it nearly impossible to open without a bit of force. The doormat in front of the door once read “WELCOME” but was so badly damaged you could hardly tell it was a doormat at all.

Inside the home were bare walls with dust marks outlining the places where large portraits and paintings once hung. The furniture covered in white sheets that had started to mold due to moisture seeping into the home. A small gray mouse flutters across the floorboards, seeking its next meal in the home. Dishes left on the table, perfectly set for a dinner that would never happen. The table slowly rotting away from the legs up as the water in the home damages the wood fixtures further. Out onto the back porch a single table sits with one chair on either side, looking out into the back yard. From the porch, a large ferris wheel can be seen, equally abandoned in the rush to evacuate.

And here it sits. A quiet, forgotten home, in a quiet forgotten part of the world. A monument to humanity’s technological achievement and the costs such achievement can bring. The city of Pripyat lays dormant, never to feel the presence of humanity again.