The following piece was hacked from a thing I wrote some years ago. While I was back in PEI, my sister and I were on a walk and stumbled upon this old house. It made me think of the little gem I had written. As I read it now I’m not so sure it’s as good as I remembered it to be seven years ago. Nevertheless: A wee bit of fiction for you!
“…On the property, next to Jennifer’s late husbands, there was an old abandoned house. It’s windows partially boarded up. It’s weeds overtaking the long grass. This house was the first thing she saw when leaving Peter’s, and the last thing she saw on her way back. Everyday, for a week and a half, she passed it without so much as a glance. Today was different, for the first time she looked at the decrepit house as she drove past.
She stopped the car in the middle of the road and sat staring at the old house. After a few minutes she put the car into reverse. Slowly, she drove up the unpaved driveway. She got out and carefully walked up the rotting steps, each step creaking, almost moaning, ready to give way under foot. Reaching the rickety veranda, she wandered to the far end where there was a large gap between the boards nailed to the window frame. When she looked through the grimy window she saw a dead house. She had never seen a dead house up close before. She had never lived in those types of neighborhoods that leave abandoned, rundown, houses to decay into the ground. She had driven past them in poor areas of Boston, but was never compelled to stop for a closer look. Why today was any different, she didn’t know; for whatever reason she was drawn to look closer. What she saw saddened her.
The floor looked to be constructed of hard wood; it was difficult to say for sure what was blanketed under the layers of dust. There were a few pieces of furniture in what once must have been the living room. They were covered with dust-laden tarps, cobwebs anchoring them to the floor. On the far wall there was the remnants of a stone fireplace with a large mantle piece. She imagined it must have filled the room with warmth in its hay day. Now, the room was bleak and cold, nary a breath of life to be found.
Outside, the warm afternoon sun of early July shone ripe on everything around this house; yet it stood forever in darkness. Gone was the newness, the luster, the future filled with the promise of a new family to dwell therein. Gone was the time it was born of the seeds of inspiration; the sweat and determination to create something were also long gone. Once crafted lovingly from the ground up with an eye for every intricate detail, now the only recognizable detail was emptiness. It stood, alone, waiting for impending demise, unnoticed in its state of nothingness as the living word filtered past.”
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