Ruminations Among the Ruination
The house was still half-built, half-destroyed. It had never been completed and for every few hours of work I put into repairing it, it seemed like something new broke, or nature won another victory. Yesterday, a long brick wall that lined the dining hall had been infested with ivy and crumbled into separate piles of rubble strung together like sad Christmas tinsel by twisting vines.
A couple of other travelers had passed through but they were gone now. They might return, I thought they would, but I didn't know when. By Halloween? By Thanksgiving? Before the great snows came? I wanted them to return but I had a hard time speaking up when they were here. It was hard being crazy and anti-social but craving company and help I would never accept. My fingers never betrayed me in the ways my mouth did.
I had grand visions of keeping this house alive. It had strong ancient bones and stories written into the complex stonework of its foundations.
Okay but how do your resuscitate a dead house?
Send out invitations?
Comments (3 so far!)
It feels very much like you are telling the ongoing story that began with Ficlets.
- #1518 Posted 3 years ago
Oh, he is.
- #1528 Posted 3 years ago
I like to think of it as a creative diary. I am cataloging it and thinking about it, while living it. It's also an invitation . . . as always.
- #1530 Posted 3 years ago
Inspired by (sequel to):
The house appeared abandoned. It was spacious, boasting of what looked to be a dozen rooms, but fall…The House of F
- Published 3 years ago.
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