SanchezBrokenGlass
edited
Abrar Basha
Mr. Wright
Creative Writing
28 November 2009
Broken Glass and Creaking Doors …
Abrar Basha
Mr. Wright
Creative Writing
28 November 2009
Broken Glass and Creaking Doors
November 29, 2009
Laying down in the grass, the sun beat down on his face. The grass caressed his skin yet stabbed into him. The blue sky beckoned. This abandoned lot solely understood him. Outside he was a fallen apart wreck. The inside was something more. Something genius. Something beautiful.
They didn’t really understand him. So low key. So abrupt. Looking as if he didn’t belong. You see, this is a house, and this house isn’t in the best shape. “I guess that’s why they want to take me down” was what he thought. “Better enjoy it while I can”.
House- February 5, 2009
Every Thursday afternoon Frank would always come here; always looking at me so intently. I wonder why. He hasn’t been here lately. Why has he suddenly showed up? He’s always bringing stuff with him. Measuring tape, clip board to write down his little notes… What is he up to?
House-February 10, 2009
I overheard Frank talking about something to do with demolishing. I really hope it isn’t me. I know no one lives here but I’ve been here for decades. Doesn’t that matter?
House-March 5, 2009
Today that jerk Frank brought some guy. They are definitely knocking me down, unless I have something to do with it. They were marking up the walls and whatnot. This will be the worst decision of his life.
House- March 19, 2009
Today I let go one of the wood steps while Frank and his buddies were walking up to my front door. They fell through. I hope it hurt.
House-March 25, 2009
That step. I remember it way back when I was just made. If I recall correctly, it was around 1780. It was a crisp, cool day in autumn. The leaves coated the coarse grass like the blood of soldiers drenching the ground. My first owners, the people who made me, were sitting on the porch. As America and Great Britain were at war, they waited. Waited for it to end. Waited for their only son to return home. As they silently sat, looking into the calm waters, a man with a large brown bag hanging at his side approached them. He walked up to the step, the very one that I broke, and opened that bag. He pulled out a cream-colored envelope. With a tip of his hat and a smile, he walked away. The wife opened the envelope, removed the letter, and began reading. Her face turned into stone. To her husband, she whispered, “He’s dead.” They sat there and wept.
House- March 25, 2009
What I did the other day wasn’t the right thing to do. If I want to survive, this isn’t the way. I need to show him why he needs me. But how?
April 16, 2009
The house was being inspected by Frank and the demolition crew. Equipment is everywhere. For some reason Frank saw something in the house that he didn’t see before. It had something that he couldn’t explain. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to knock it down anymore.
House-April 17,2009
I think I saw something yesterday. Frank was being a little hesitant when he was talking to those guys. Maybe this won’t end up as bad as I thought it would.
House- May 7, 2009
It has been scheduled. Monday, November 30th, 2009. That’s it. The end. At least Frank is happy.
House- November 30, 2009: Demolition Day
Today is demolition day. It has been a good run. What has it been? Two-hundred years? Two-thirty? It all ends now. They have set up. There it is. That yellow contraption. My demise. It parked itself to my side. Everyone was clearing the area as they stared at me. I stared back. What else could I do? The grimy, slightly passed middle age man pulled a lever and pressed a couple buttons. The eroded metal ball slowly lifted, inching its way to the top. When it reached its peak, suddenly, there was a voice. It was Frank. He yelled for them to wait. Everything stopped. The birds were silent. The wind was still. I’m going to make it. I’m going to live. Then I felt a sharp pain. Something was missing.
