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The Farmhouse

The old farmhouse sat at the bottom of a slope. I had to cross to the other side of the street to see the bottom half, the first floor. It was separated from the foundation it had been built on; large metal beams now supported its full weight. I stood and stared, feeling like there was something I was supposed to do. I felt sad, standing there, looking at that little house. It looked so sad, sitting there all broken, in front of an exclusive golf course, next to the freshly poured concrete of a new condo. It looked so innocent. Innocently sitting there, holding the spot where a park is to be built.

It reminded me of those wild animals that sometimes wander into town. Trapped, waiting for humans to decide its fate.

Story by:

Melina Attard

5 May 2017