10 Minute Tales

May 21 - Return

The car slowed to a stop with a slight whine of the brakes, the gravel crunching beneath the tires. The birds sang their chorus into the orange sky, the trees around him yielding their leaves to the graceful passage of time. He stepped out of the car, adjusting his coat against the wind. Before him stood the family's mansion - or, at least, what still stood of it. This once-proud home overlooked acres of land in its day, but now the land belonged to the government, the mansion itself a crumbling, ivy-choked ruin of crumbling wood and broken glass. He sighed as he walked up the driveway, the crunch of gravel not as satisfying as it was in his youth. How had it fallen to ruin so quickly? He remembered playing on this very driveway, he remembered sleeping in that room overlooking the city - hell, he still had the key in his pocket. He brought it out, climbing the solid stairs to the huge oaken door. Both seemed to be rather good condition, considering the rest of the house, but the solid creaking of the door was far more robust than he had remembered. He clicked his torch on and looked around, the beam sweeping over the central staircase. Rather than head up them, he decided to continue exploring the lower floor, going through to the dining room. Cobwebs had choked one corner and ivy had crept in through a broken window, but the room seemed pretty standard otherwise. He went over to a drawer and opened it. He quickly recoiled in disgust, though; cockroaches had claimed their home in that particular drawer, and on its opening they chose to scatter, quickly. He coughed a little in disgust, but soon calmed his nerves and moved on. There was a rancid scent coming from the kitchen, so he instead turned back to the hall and carried on through to the back garden. This was the one place that seemed to have improved over time; the finely kept gardens, once the pride of the mansion, had become a wild and unkempt wilderness that had been overgrown with everything - grass, flowers, even the young cherry tree had grown wildly. Its winding branches, once so simple, were now meandering every direction imaginable. It was free. He frowned slightly. It was more free than he was. He sighed, memories of the mansion swarming through his mind now. He had to finish what he had started years ago. He went back into the mansion, reaching into his pocket. It had started in his room. A simple promise to himself that had turned from a childish whim to everything he had in mind. To get there, though, he had to test the stairs. He reluctantly stepped on one, testing its structure. It creaked loudly, but it would hold, so he climbed up. His serenity from before had changed to frustration, anger, hatred. He brought out a matchbook, as old as the house itself. A single match rattled around within it. He was ready.