The House for Sale

There is a house across the street from me. My mom said I could explore it. I bounded down my driveway to the mailbox of the house. There's a cobweb covered well next to it filled with dirty water and rusty coins. In the mailbox there's a number of tattered old phamplets and an unpaid bill notice from two summers ago. I jumped around the mailbox and well to the driveway. There's cobblestones leading from the mailbox to the yard, but instead of taking that path, I made a beeline for the stepping stones guiding me to the garden.

There were stepping stones in the garden, too, with overgrown clumps of moss in all shades of green, hugging it like a fitted pea coat. A number of wilted flowers heads drooped over the soil in which they had been planted. A few flies were poking around a vegetable garden, and there were knats on the fruit. The herbs smelled very strongly and were left bee by bugs.

On the exterior of the shed, there were chips in the paint, and when I peered in through the window, there were clusters of dust. A musty smell rose from it. There was an old clock and a trowel in the corner, long forgotten. I tapped on the glass to see if any bug critters were inside, but it seemed to be barren.

What an interesting house, I thought as I walked home.