literature

The Moral of This Story

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Benevolent-Silence's avatar
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Literature Text

I wonder...if I drew the curtains shut, how long would it take for people to notice?

  It had always been a small house. And it had always been on the corner of 4th and Maple. nobody really gave the little house much thought. It had always been in slight disrepair, though it had always looked taken care of. The lawn was never overgrown, and the windows were always clean. Clean and closed, letting in no light and letting out no greetings.

Someone, knock on my door...ring the bell...say hello...

  The slightly peeled paint on the siding belied the house's somewhat young age. It had only been built one generation ago, and yet to the town and its people, it felt like it had always been there. No one really remembered what family lived there, or if they had children or animals. The two-story had always been a quiet place, so no one paid it much mind.

...don't leave me here, in this place...

  It was well dressed, this house. A cute little place with handsome siding and a lightly slanted roof. basement windows peeked out from behind slightly wild flower gardens, and the quaint little yard with its wooden fence. The fence was sparse, though - you know the style. You could clearly see most of the yard, the slats only close enough to keep a dog or small child in the yard.

My words said I was fine, but my heart was begging you to stay...

  In the evening, when the town dimmed, and the street lights came on, no light ever came from the little house. They supposed that the owners went to bed early, like any other normal, respectable people would. It had almost become a symbol of the town, this quiet, normal house. Though no one ever saw the people who lived inside, even the lawn was taken care of, so they assured themselves that they simply never came by at just the right time to catch them outside.

So I'll close the blinds, and lock the doors. When you come back, there will be no answer.

  But, sure enough, after time the house had started to show signs of ill repair. The paint had begun to peel from the house in large patches, and the gardens and lawn had become wild and overgrown. The windows had become foggy with years of dust and dirt, and still no one had seen the people that lived there. Still no light came from the windows at night, and still no noise came from the house in the day. It had again become a symbol, a sign of the changing times.

In this empty house of boxes and dust is where I'll stay, covered in plain white sheets.

  But some people grew curious. Not curious enough to cross the lawn and knock on the door or ring the bell. Oh, how that had become a popular dare among the children. They all had enough respect not to harm the house, but no one bothered to care for it, either. It was in shambles now, after many years of being left alone.

And now, I shall rest, forgotten by time in this place.

  Several years later, when those children had grown into men and women, a sad day came. The old house on the corner of 4th and Maple finally fell under the pressure of its own weight. The town mourned the loss of its icon, but neither did they rebuild or clean it from the ground. Again, the bones of that place had become symbolic to them, though they would forget in time as the wild growth overtook the ruins and hid it from their eyes.

And for one moment, I was shown to them. Shown, when it was too late for them to reach out.
All things contain a story.
All stories can teach a lesson.
All lessons must be taught too late.
Too late is the worth of a thing discovered.
Discover the worth of the world around you, before it becomes too late, and cherish the world you uncover.
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Methenewguy's avatar
Very eerie, very good! I really enjoyed the slow and steady decay you describe, very good symbolism.