Thoughts of an Average Girl

Echoes

The broken house was hardly a house. The roof collapsed years ago and the walls simply added to the pile of memories.

The house had been a simple house in the middle of the town. Now it is a pile of a house in the outskirts of the city.

If you approached the pile, the first thing you would notice is a swing. Maybe, if you kept looking, you would find the notebooks. They were full of stories. It would take days to read the writings of the young girl. In the pile, you would find several rotted out, overturned bookshelves, under which, there are several books.

Glancing around, you may notice a face, a curl, or a piece of fabric from several porcelain dolls. Turning, you would probably notice the guitar. It is out of tune as though it had not been played in years as was the case.

As you pick it up, you can hear the echoes of the music it once played amid gales of laughter and the singing of a tightly knit family. As you leave, you notice that, in fact, the entire pile holds the echoes of the joyous family, released by your findings.