Tuesday, February 21, 2012
Timed Writing: 2/21/2012
Time: 10 minutes
Source Photo: Superintendants House by pixielulu
I lost a boot to the voracious muck of the back garden and had to stop to retrieve it before I could continue toward the house. The size and configuration of the building were much as I had been led to expect. The condition was far worse. Creeping vines and shrubs adhered to every surface, obscuring all but the most random patches of masonry. Even the black tile roofs were partially covered with the skeletons of weeds and brambles. I divined the locations of windows on the house's posterior aspect only by occasional gleams of sunlight reflected back at me from between windblown leaves.
I was happy to not be encountering this place at night. Although I harbored no respect for superstitions, there was a part of my mind that suffered from the influences thrust upon me during my youth. A man may know that the blade thrust at him is a trick knife and still he will flinch. I believed not in tales of hauntings or in ghosts, ghouls or other such nonsense, but having for so long been under the care of those that did, that house, if beheld by moonlight, would, no doubt, have bipassed my rational mind and awoken monstrous apprehension and dread.
(about my timed writing exercises)
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