Charred Remains

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Travel  |  House: Booksie Classic

Revisiting memories. A description of someplace important to me.

My anticipation builds as each crunch of the snow beneath my feet grows louder and louder, pounding in my ears. Tiny snowflakes cling to my clothes and eyelashes. The bare trees are caked in snow, blending them with its blank canvas. Only the small, dark shack dares create a contrast here. Deep in the white woods, stands my childhood. A lump forms in my throat as I get closer to it.

As I touch the blackened wood of the shack, charred flakes fall from it. I duck under the door frame, and stand in the middle of the small play house. There's a dull creak of the floor, and dusty cobwebs are matted against the walls. The wooden frame is all that remains of the roof, clinging to its last shred of dignity, with the grey gloom of the sky creating an appropriate covering. The heavy silence seems overwhelming here.  

I remember so vividly this small house in all its splendor. It's cheerful creak as my friend and I laughed and played. It's colorful walls as we painted the interior together. It's loyal silence as we shared secrets inside it. Just as clear, though, are the flames that swallowed it whole.

A breeze sweeps through the shack, and raises the hair on my neck and arms. The crisp, clean air trying to erase the musty bitterness of the shack. A thin sheet of snow flicks up and flutters in the air, as if reminding me that the shack never lost the enchantment it once had. Except that it had. All this shack reminds me of is the friendship that was had, and lost. 

I turn and step out. One last glance over my shoulder shows the hope of the shack shrinking. And for once, the tiny house looks as neglected as I feel. So I leave it behind.


Submitted: December 01, 2014

© Copyright 2021 Anna Grettle. All rights reserved.

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