Excerpt: The Great Ostrowskis

The room was big, and smelled like heat. The walls were white- except for the farthest one, which was an aged brown. On the floor in random areas there were a couple of scraps of carpet- mustard yellow shag, flecked brown-, and near Jan, against one wall, there was an oven in a scratched, rusted, beaten-in state of ill-use, door only half-hinged and hanging open. Ashes filled it. Ashes had spilled onto the floor beneath it. Jan heard the breath of one of his siblings catch. He saw in a far corner of the room a number of glossy, darkly colored pictures attached to the wall, and judged by the fact that the furthest was cut off that the room went further in one direction than they could see.
He heard a choking behind him. He felt at first too sunk into the sight of the room to turn around, but he did, heavily and slowly. All of his siblings were crowded around him, and all but Jules were looking into the room. Jules had a clenched fist to her mouth and her eyes were crinkled and teary. Brygida put her arm around Jules and gripped her shoulder tightly.
Jan still felt his actions being slowed down with the moody weight of the room, and couldn’t open his mouth to ask what was wrong, but Stan did.
“What’s wrong?” he said, confused, looking from Jules to Brygida.
“That carpet is,” Jules took a deep breath to control the shaking of her voice, “the color of- the room- it’s, it’s, it’s,” she closed her eyes and took a weak, sick breath, “you know, it’s the exact same carpet as the room I found Dad in...”