Kristen Gucciardo Creative Writing 1701 Prose Sketch 1 October 28th, 2009 As I open the front door I?m greeted by the familiar creek. I should remind Henry to oil the door; he?s been quite forgetful ever since the incident. I wander over to the garden. My nostrils are filled with the heavenly aroma of tulips and hydrangea?s yet I smell nothing. This place is no longer effervescent. The atmosphere is eerie and sullen. My eyes are pulled to the barn in the backyard by some invisible force. I kneel in the garden and pick some of the tulips; this has become a morning routine. The barn no longer looks inviting, a place that once was my escape now appears devoured by the memories it contains. The wood screams with sorrow, at night it groans as if it is mourning with my family. I carry the flowers over to the barn, unlatch it and swing the doors open. Light floods the barn; everything becomes illuminated. Nothing quite looks the same, the barn is bleak. Horses poke their heads out of their stalls, one whines at me as if to say ?I?m sorry.? I drop the flowers I?d been clutching; they flutter onto the pile of flowers from previous mornings. Next to them fall my tears as I slam the barn doors closed and with it the memories it contains. Word Count: 228
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