Once crouched, now slouched on the clifftop, the off-white
ramshackle building has stood empty and deserted for years.
Most of the windows are boarded up against the watery light,
against damage, against weather. Obviously, the very real fears
of the last owners came true, for they’ve long since abandoned
it to time, space and memory. Once grand, it now stands bereft,
run-down; the hushed and dripping garden wildly overgrown; pond
choked, blocked with matter; formerly bright facade paint left
to peel and fall; gutters sag badly and pipes lean. Inside,
all of the rooms are silent, empty, carpeted with dust. A few
discarded items remain; a broken clock, smashed crockery, a tied-
back black velvet curtain, ragged and holey, a chandelier askew.
These are the fragmented remains of former glory, left over from when
it was, no doubt, seasonally full and very noisy. Now it is silent
save for the wind. From an empty room upstairs, the sea can be seen
throwing itself repeatedly against the rocks, tirelessly constant.
The Abandoned Hotel
© R J Dent (2009)