The scenery is still very warming like a puppy that is held close to your chest. The old water tower remains standing protruding through the earth. Dust floats in the air, creating clouds, when we drive down the jerky road. I look around, nothing has changed from last time I was here, the grain bins still reflect the sun. Each corn stalk stood tall and firm making it difficult for me to see what mom and I always drive for. The pressure on the gas pedal increased giving the car a jolt of energy like a kid who has just three bags of candy. Then it came into view, with the tree swing still hanging in the backyard waiting for someone. I pulled into the carmel driveway shifting the car into park allowing it to rest and closed the door with a “clunk”. As I turned around the house stood silently still, I took a deep filling my lungs with the most amazing feeling. The old house was losing part of its skin producing tiny, white flakes arranged around the yard, and the shingles on top of the roof were trying to hang on the best they could. I took my first step towards the front door walking up the sturdy, metal bicycle ramp, noticing the tiny slots that allowed you to view what was beneath you. When I raised my head I realized the front door had not changed at all, the orange paint was still faded and was starting to show more white but not much. It was as if someone took orange watercolor to a piece of paper. The polished door knob twisted as I opened the door releasing a familiar,
Driving to Long Prairie, on the right side of the road, up a hill with a long, paved driveway will be a house to the left. This house is two-stories with a basement. The first time I saw it, the house had a worn out, light tan vinyl siding with faded, dark red shutters from years of Minnesota weather. At the end of the driveway was a garage that resembled the houses color. To the right of the driveway was a large stone wall that was overrun with wild grape vines. In the middle of the wall was a stairway that leads to an old, rundown playhouse. Also, there was a large, gray brick shed further away. Beyond the house are the woods, littered with pine needles from the rows of trees my grandpa planted when he moved there. The whole area is surrounded by the overpowering smell of pine, and the silence the woods carries; it brings a calming, peaceful sensation to me. As the years have gone on, the house and I have aged, grown, and changed together.
As I draw near to the island on which my dream house awaits, I catch a quick glance of it out of the corner of my eye. It is humongous, and is the most noticeable building in the area. My private steel, elegant jet lands on the octagonal air strip next to the house. I get out of the jet the wind was whistling and blowing my hair back as I started my journey through a heavily wooded path leading to my dream house. I walk with anxiety toward the house at which I will spend the rest of my life. All around me lay the most beautiful gigantic trees and yellow miniature plants I have ever seen. It is peaceful but I can hear the sounds of birds chirping and small forest creatures frolicking in the underbrush. As I continue to walk along the
The sky was getting darker every second, as my long blonde hair was blown from my pale face. I took a deep breath and smiled a little. The cool, crisp air was refreshing from the heated and stuffy house. Making my way from the warm and coziness that lie behind the door, I headed towards the old buildings that surrounded my house. There were three of them. One was an old one room house that looked as if it wanted to fall over. The second, that lie adjacent to our garage, was a rotting shed filled with empty bottles and garbage that was there long before we had moved onto the
Speeding around the corner, I see the dilapidated house has taken one more step toward total ruin, the cemetery has a few new headstones, and Mamaw’s house looks exactly the same. The single story white brick house sits alone on the right side of Miller Road and the yard is alive with flowers, trees, and invisible-from-a-distance fire ant-piles. I pull in the driveway and park to the side of the house under the shade of the massive pecan tree. The crunch of squirrel-cracked shells sounds beneath my feet. I smile at the familiarity of it all as the storm door thunks shut behind me. My nose is assaulted by the smell of fresh biscuits and starched laundry. Bright light floods into the empty family room from the porch, and I know I am home.
The Abandoned house stood there, with fog rising to the sky. Lights flickered being the only light in the dark….. The fog dragged a cold breeze, that sent a chill up my spine, this house has been here forever and nothing like this has ever happened before, I gulped and strolled into the cold night fog. As I approached the house, the door slowly opens and a Shadow steps towards me. The weather just dropped like 40 degrees, I don't like this at all.
In the living room, the cuckoo clock said, "Ticktock, seven-thirty o'clock, time to get up, time to get up, seven-thirty o'clock!" As if the cuckoo clock is afraid, nobody, in the house would wake up. The living room is like a perfect, black and white, cover. I had always been afraid to sit, in the living room, in case I wrinkle the fabric or stain it. The couch is cream but inlaid with a fine green silk, and leaves embroidered so delicately that they might have landed there in spring and just sunk in, but I know they took hundreds of hours to sew. The black curtains are linen, the kind of black that is untouched by hands and devoid of dust. A cursory look to the right shows me the almost hidden cords that are used to open and close them. In the living room, there is no television, no dining table, only the chairs arranged around the bespoke fireplace which leaps with a gas flame. The photographs are black and white, not casual family pictures, but arranged to look like such by a professional, anyone of them wouldn't look out of place. The floor is a high polished wood, dark and free of either dust or clutter. I always felt like this was my home. "I belong here."
Set on a ridge overlooking the beautiful Olympic mountains -you will truly love this unique home. A blend of Japanese and northwestern architecture gives the house a perfect feel for a relaxing yoga retreat or any vacation. With its traditional Tatami room and spectacular Japanese blue tile roof this spacious home will give you the sublime rest and rejuvenation that you deserve!
A group of friends walked up to an old, seemingly abandoned house. They couldn’t see inside because of the dirt and cobwebs on the windows. When they turned the doorknob to see if it was locked, the door creaked open as if it has been closed for years. Me and my friends , Hayden ,Annie ,Kacy , and Rush were walking up old stairs to this abandoned house . As we walk in the house the door shut Annie screamed and I told her to ,’’shut up ,’’ we all didn't think about the door closing on its on except Annie . So we keep walking around to see if there is light willed Annie keeps yapping about the door. As we were walking around to see if there was light , we did not proceed that we were in a abound house so the light will not work because no one lives here so no one could pay the bills . So we looked in Rush's bag to get the flashlights . As we walk around Kacy started to joke around like what if we die , or what if theres ghost ,or what if we get trap here , so that made Annie really scared . kacy loves to try to scarier use but it doesn't work expect Annie .
It was just me and Bob sitting in my house when I got a phone call. The phone call was from my friend Tyler, he wanted to know if I wanted to go explore an abandoned house down his street. So I said yes, then Bob and I got on our bikes and headed towards Tyler’s house. When we got there Tyler met us outside and then we all walked down his street. As we were walking Tyler explained to us why we were going into the house he said that the house was abandoned, that it was like a maze, and that people who went in never came out.
I turned around, looking back at my old room. The paint on the wall is peeling off, the ceiling was falling apart, and the floor was cracking open. This was the house I have been living for thirteen years, and now I need to leave. Mom and dad bought this house from an old man, then thirteen years past, this is 2004. yes, it is already 2004, how fast is it! I stood there, staring at the empty room with only a little furniture. I can’t feel home, where is my home? I don’t know this weird feeling. Happy and sad at the same time. However, if I left, is it going to be an enjoyable life, or it is going to be another way that leads me to my doom? I kept repeating in my mind.
I. M. Pei never lived there. But relatives of the renowned architect are clinging to the hope that his fame will help them save the old house that stands as the last reminder of the family 's heyday in turn-of-the-century Shanghai.
One place that I see every day but don’t put much attention to is my house. The house that I live in is near by a park and a gas station. My house is small and cozy is made of steel frames, the anterior part of the house has a beige and pink color that combine a beautiful shade. The inside of my house has many portraits of family members and drawings. I have a total of two bathrooms and four rooms a kitchen and two living rooms. We have a living room that’s used for grown-ups and the other one is used for the children. The kitchen table and chairs are made of wood, in the ceiling there is big chandelier. The walls of my house are painted in different colors that are green, beige and pink. I like that every room has its own different color, it’s not boring it brings life and shade.
The house that I’ve grown up in is very unique, my parents built it by hand. With no help from anyone besides some family and friends. My dad and his ex wife started building it before they got divorced, and there was only 2 floors because then it was only a home for a family of 4. When my mom and dad got married they had to build more onto it because the family of 4 turned into a family of 6. Plus both of my parents would help anyone that needed it, and so they became foster parents. All my siblings and their children call where I live “The Farm” because our house sits on around 450 acres land, that have anywhere from horse and cows grazing on it at almost all times year, to baling hay during the summer months. There is always something going on at The Farm.
I sat there, with the dark, cold sand running through my fingers. My sisters running through the tall, sharp grass as if it weren’t even there. At the river bank, my parents were talking with a man who I had never seen before. Behind them, I could see the sun setting though the trees, the orange, pink and yellow colors reflecting off of the river. The massive maple, hickory and pine trees cast shadows onto the abandoned sandlot, the sandlot that would soon be purchased by my parents, and turned into my new home. The one story, three bedrooms, and one bath house we are living in would soon be packed away and brought to the new house. This house was just that, a house. I considered this house a place where I would eat, sleep, and do my homework at. I shared a room and a bed with my youngest sister, while my oldest and second youngest sister shared the other. My parents had a makeshift room with a small bed and a box TV in it. Six people in a one-story house is overwhelming, but my parents made the best of what we had. Even at night, when you could hear the neighbors next door yelling at each other, my mom would always make us keep our windows closed, until the morning. My family was more than ready for the move to our new home, but it wouldn’t be here for another year or so.
The nipping cold hits my face as I stroll through the woods looking for the cabin that I grew up in. When I trudge through the crunchy snow it makes a sound like it is October with the crisp fallen leaves underneath my feet. Up ahead I soon spot the cabin made out of walnut wood. It looks so magnificent sitting up on top of the hill with the sun beaming its glistening rays from behind on each side. As I enter through the wooden gate surrounding the house I recall all the memories of Christmases before that were made in this house. I remember the good smells and sounds from years past and hope that they come back this year.