Writing Challenge # 22
 

Time for another picture week ....




Your Challenge : Using any writing style you choose, write with this as your inspiration (Thanks to Tecoyah for the picture) :






Let the words begin...

They pulled up to the house, full of anticipation and excitement at the prospect of owning their first home. The realtor reached for the keys and gave them a slight warning as they approached the front porch, "it's quite old, over 80 years and needs some work, but it has good bones, as we like to say".
As they stepped inside, greeted by massive wood trim around the walls and ornate iron radiators, they could detect a faint scent. "Mmm, jasmine", said she. "No, that's fresh baked cookies! Like my mom's!", replied her spouse. They looked at each other like the other was crazy. How could one scent be so different?
Each room was bathed in sunlight, as if the sun followed their steps. The walls glistened, the floors shined. What furniture remained was obviously old but very well taken care of. Without a word of discussion first, and at the very same moment, they said, "We'll take it!"
At the diningroom table, an offer was made, papers were signed, hands were shook. The three left, all very pleased with the results of the day.
Inside the house, the former owners stood and smiled at each other. "Jasmine, eh?" asked the husband. "Of course", the wife answered. "It reminded her of her grandmother's home. You wanted a nice young couple to live here like we did.....when we were alive...."

Chills down the spine Dawg.....fuck an "A"

Well, sheesh and jeez....did I scare everyone away???

Scared is not right word ngdawg. It's the greatness of your expression that overwhelms (well, me anyway :) )

That being said, I will do my best to add to this inspiring picture...

A roof, walls and floors
with some windows and doors
a box in which to reside
or a place for us to hide
from lifes torment and pain
from natures elemental strains

But to those who will choose
And succumb to lifes muse
Can see within these walls
A wonderment and awe
For we each leave a trace
In our own special place

And those who can see
These subtle memories
See richness and delight
And feel the magic of life
Not the empty boxes once thought
But a living archive of sorts

I always hated to visit my mother. Its not that I hate my mother, I love her as any son loves his mother, I guess, I just hate the house and the feeling of failure it gives me. My parents bought it back when they were my age, it was just suppose to be a starter house, something to live in until they made it big. Well forty years later, here she is still, after raising five children in the starter house. I could always tell my father hated this house, he seemed to treat every repair or upkeep as if it were a form of extortion. In the end the house won, he died of a heart attack trying to shovel the driveway after a heavy snow. I have a feeling his last thoughts were not of his children or wife, but on how much he hated this house. This house isn’t just about my parents failure at their dreams of upper middle class. It is here I found out I didn’t get into college, here that I convinced my ex-wife to first put out in the musty basement, between the canned pickles and a pile of old newspapers my mother saved for no reason I could figure out, and here that I had to move in after she left me for my best friend. He wasn’t that great a friend, obviously, but he was also my only friend. This house to me is a physical manifestation of all that sucks. I hate it more than anything, even my ex-wife.

It's not the walls or the name on the mailbox
nor a creaky fourth step which quietly groans
that give a piece of land the name Home
but instead the fingerpaint masterpiece hanging
handprints of love being scattered on the walls
both the quiet and the noisy sounds of family
as memories are made within these cozy walls

the left wall appears to be curved as if the house is gradually imploding.
saltboxes do not generally look that way.

to the left of the front door, a curved pole: atop that, a cube wrapped in a black flag.

it is as if the house recoils in hurt and dismay reacting to something that happened inside.

the photo stages mourning and its narcissism.
the world bends round as you collapse.

The little grey house
Inviting, yet defensive
Thanks to ADT

Home is something undefined
Hidden deep within the mind
A place of visions when we're blind
Where lovers treat each other kind
And in this house thats what I find

For home is where our paths combined

Wow


Mr Mephisto

You do know thats fiction right? :thumbsup:

Yep. I just liked it.


Mr Mephisto

You know, looking at this from a couple of years distance, this isn't bad.

I've been catching the writing bug again, perhaps I should get back into it.

/offtopic

I can't seem to see the picture although I want to participate. Any ideas? I'd appreciate pointing me to a post with a solution too. I"m currently using firefox but the problem appears in ie also

Picture is long gone, it was a rather plain house as I recall.