FMJ
Technical Senior
This is a short story to introduce a series called, strangely enough, Old Houses.
Old houses talk of bygone days. They creak when they sway in the wind as their heavy wooden timbers flex. The rain and humidity makes their proud dark woodwork expand and contract ultimately loosening the secure hold it once boasted. They have outlived their builders and many of their second, or fourth or even seventh owners. Summer nights with soft music and quiet talk over carefully prepared meals punctuated with drinks to celebrate important lasting accomplishments were enjoyed. People built them and loved them or bought them to raise families that have all grown up and moved away or fragmented and disappeared. Happy voices and songs would echo from halls and rooms on holidays and birthdays and anniversaries. Christmas trees and beautiful cards with snow covered scenes were displayed and crepe paper streamers and cakes with candles marked festive occasions. Little feet would run from room to room with glee playing hide and seek and a dozen other children’s games with little regard for the past or the future. Decorations heralded the holidays with decreasing frequency in the passing years as their time would slowly wind down. Old houses hold secrets that their builders and owners have left with them for safekeeping. The despair of a lost soul that walked darkened lonely halls in the wee hours of the morning. The sole surviving sick and dying spouse that has left this world with only the old house to witness their passing. Their foundations have supported the floors walked by generations of people that have either added something to this world or have sullenly taken and left. Some are truly missed by those old houses and some are not.
Old Houses
Intro
FMJ
Intro
FMJ
Old houses talk of bygone days. They creak when they sway in the wind as their heavy wooden timbers flex. The rain and humidity makes their proud dark woodwork expand and contract ultimately loosening the secure hold it once boasted. They have outlived their builders and many of their second, or fourth or even seventh owners. Summer nights with soft music and quiet talk over carefully prepared meals punctuated with drinks to celebrate important lasting accomplishments were enjoyed. People built them and loved them or bought them to raise families that have all grown up and moved away or fragmented and disappeared. Happy voices and songs would echo from halls and rooms on holidays and birthdays and anniversaries. Christmas trees and beautiful cards with snow covered scenes were displayed and crepe paper streamers and cakes with candles marked festive occasions. Little feet would run from room to room with glee playing hide and seek and a dozen other children’s games with little regard for the past or the future. Decorations heralded the holidays with decreasing frequency in the passing years as their time would slowly wind down. Old houses hold secrets that their builders and owners have left with them for safekeeping. The despair of a lost soul that walked darkened lonely halls in the wee hours of the morning. The sole surviving sick and dying spouse that has left this world with only the old house to witness their passing. Their foundations have supported the floors walked by generations of people that have either added something to this world or have sullenly taken and left. Some are truly missed by those old houses and some are not.