One Hundred and Ninety-six, Hiss

I stare out a window, old enough to warp the light coming in so the tree in the distance looks spooky in the gloaming.  The house across the way has some vines growing up the sides and I've never seen a light or person there.  Maybe it's abandoned.  People tonight are dyeing eggs and celebrating birthdays and eating good food.  I sit here in the dark listening to the gas from the heater behind me hissing out.