The Old House
Tick! Tock! Tick! Tock!
The old clock kept time in a house that was no longer alive. No sunlight danced in through the dirty windows. Cobwebs hung listely, its occupants dead or gone. The dust lay on the floor, a dreary carpet on a sagging floor. A stray fly buzzed around a chandelier that stared miserably down from where it was bolted to the ceiling. And open door creaked as a breath of wind caused it to move on its rusty hinges. A crumbling piece of cloth fluttered through the air, like a bird trapped in a cage. It was an empty, forlorn building, without a breath.
But the house had not always been void of life. A long time ago, the house had lived and breathed. Chubby, happy children had run through the velvet carpeted halls. Red, white, and yellow roses grew on the walls outside the building. Willow tress drooped over a pond, creating a very romantic atmosphere. Grass covered the lawn without an imperfection. Young maidens were wooed in the house and garden. Marriages and feasts took place inside the large house. Old and revered grandfathers and grandmothers and been laid to eternal rest in the charming cemetery that lay in a copse of trees. Friendly birds sang in the trees, and kept the squirrels company. Sunlight flowed in like a river through the crystal- clear windows. The wind entered with the sunlight and played tag with the muslin curtains. It danced with the flowers in the garden, and sang the trees to sleep. But all of this was a long time ago.
The house’s days were past. It was an old, long forgotten, abandoned house. It was broken down with disrepair and weeds filled the garden where once the grass has been as soft as a blanket. Birds no longer sang in the trees, and even the insects had largely left the house. Part of the roof had caved in after years of storms. The house lived no longer and it never would again.
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