House - Chapter 1

There was a House.

Just a normal house, no different from the ones around it.

I mean, it was different, but it was the same.

Does that make sense?

It was a part of a set;

Even with characteristics dissimilar, they were all unified in their similarities.

They all were made around the same time,

They grew up together like siblings.

Any passerby could tell; how well all of them fitted together,

Unified and cohesive.

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All of the houses were made in a similar way to each other,

Brick walls, white railings, large windows,

Made around the same time,

But they were put together differently.

Some with one-story,

Some two.

Some with russet bricks,

Some clay.

Some with large oak doors,

Some spruce.

The list could go on and on, but I don’t think you would want to read all that.

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All of these houses found comfort in their similarities,

None more than the House.

It loved their group,

No one could leave and no one new could join;

The period of time passed for that years ago.

But,

Who else could be a house just like them?

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Everything stayed like this for a while,

While they were still relatively young and didn’t know anything else.

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The House didn’t know when it started transpiring,

It only noticed when it first happened in front of it.

Afterall, it couldn’t stand up and go for a walk, could it?

One of the houses, one of the oldest of their offspring,

Got demolished,

Replaced by a new house, multiple houses,

But no longer the same.

All four were identical, geometrical, white, smooth.

It was definitely… different.

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The House watched as more and more houses faced the same fate,

Dread creeping up its walls,

Its foundations rooting it to the spot.

Would this happen to it as well?

It wasn’t the only one to notice this phenomenon,

It was common for passer-by to whisper to each other:

Why is that house so different from the others?

Why doesn’t that house match?

It sticks out like a sore-thumb!

Nearly all of houses around it had been replaced.

The House desperately wanted to yell back:

It wasn’t my fault!

It’s everyone else who changed, not me!

But it couldn’t, as it was only a house.

It couldn’t talk.

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Despairing, the House saw as the last of its kind fell,

Leaving the House as the only one left.

All the others becoming something new,

Becoming more even similar than they were before,

Becoming something that the House was not a part of.

It didn’t know how this could have happened,

Or why.

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Eventually, families came to vacate these new homes,

Dozens and dozens of them,

All excited to live in their new pristine homes.

While the House stayed bare,

All the families have lived there having left a long time ago.

It’s ancient walls stood, invisible to anyone who may have desired it,

Attention being stolen by the young homes who could offer more,

Not cracked, or creaking, or dated.

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What did it have if it wasn’t used for the one thing it was made for?

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It didn’t want to, but when they came to tear it down as well,

The House felt relief.

Finally, it could be just like the others,

Do what it was meant to do,

Something which had been taken away from it,

For no fault of its own.

It could join the others in their state of miserable conformity.

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