Sarah always wondered what the old warehouse was used for. Her mother always told her, "never go near that warehouse, you could be killed" and Sarah believed her. Until then. She looked out across the field behind her backyard. She surveyed the land. The dead grass stood tall and unforgiving against the dark sky, threatening rain. Her mother wasn't home, and she felt she had enough time to walk to the warehouse and back. Usually, she used her "powers" to find out what the warehouse was for, but unfortunately, she couldn't figure it out. She believed something strong was in that warehouse, but she didn't know what. She argued with herself, on whether or not to go against her mother's word, to find out what was in a rusted old warehouse.
She couldn't find a flashlight, she couldn't find a single match. Her mother was very protective, and would never keep such where her children could reach, even though Sarah was old enough to know not to play with matches.
She stood on a stool, and several phone books, to reach the top shelf in her mother's room. She felt around on the shelf, and found 3 batteries, 10 pennies, and the garage door opener. She grabbed it, and brushed the dust from it. The dust cascaded down, down. Down. Down. She got down off her tower of books, and trotted into the kitchen, drenched in a grey light, coming in from several windows. She pressed the large grey button on the garage door opener, and the door rose with a jolt. She could hear the door struggling, since it hadn't been opened for years. She set the small grey box down on the white kitchen table, and walked around it, and out the side door. She went out, the cement cold under her feet. She shivered as a guest of wind blew several dead leaves toward her. She pressed on, heading into the garage, the air still, and undisturbed for many years. She saw things she had thought she had lost. Usually she could find things with her "powers", but the garage was a black hole, sucking up the forgot, and hiding it away with the rats and mice that made their homes in the old acoustic guitar in the corner, and the massive stack of newspaper near her feet.
She looked at everything, it was like a flash back, she could remember all of the things in here, vividly, and she even forgot what she was looking for, until she spied an unassailabled tent in the corner. Mice scurried away when she came close, and she crouched, looking around, near the tent. She found what she had been looking for. The camping bag. She only hoped it would have what she wanted in it. Yes. She pulled out a heavy metal flair gun. It was bright orange, but she only found one flair. She stood up, clutching the gun, and headed out of the garage, as the rain came down. Down. Down.
