Once upon a time, there was a quaint little house nestled at the edge of a dense forest. The house had stood for centuries, weathering storms and passing through the hands of generations of families. But as time went on, the house began to show signs of wear and tear.
The paint on the walls peeled and faded, the windows became cracked and foggy, and the roof sagged under the weight of years. The once vibrant garden grew wild and unkempt, with weeds choking out flowers and vines creeping up the walls.
Inside, the floors creaked and groaned with every step, the walls whispered with the echoes of past laughter and tears. The rooms were filled with a musty smell of decay, and shadows seemed to linger in every corner.
The house seemed to be dying, its spirit fading with each passing day. The forest encroached closer and closer, reclaiming the land that the house had stood upon for so long.
And then, one fateful night, a fierce storm descended upon the area. Thunder roared and lightning flashed, shaking the old house to its core. The wind howled through the trees, tearing at the weak structure of the house.
And then, with a final groan, the house collapsed in on itself, becoming nothing more than a pile of rubble and memories. The forest reclaimed the land, erasing any trace of the house that had once stood there.
And so, the house died, its spirit finally released from the decaying structure that had held it captive for so long. The forest sighed in relief, its ancient trees whispering in the wind, telling the tale of the house that had succumbed to the passage of time.
Short story Title The House Began to Die
1 answer