My windows are like eyes. I suppose I see everything, but at the same time, nothing at all. The people who inhabit me over the years can choose when I see out, they simply close the blinds or the shutters and are on their merry way. However, what most of them don't realize is I have eyes in every crack and crevice of my walls, in my floorboards. I can see everything that happens inside my dwelling while they continue on their merry way, unaware of my presence.
Over the years, I have seen debauchery and great loyalty. Murder and at the same time, acts of heroism that are never honored as such. I have witnessed acts of love and acts of hatred, things that would make you cry of joy and of despair. My many eyes have skimmed over both the finest and darkest moments of human history.
I am an old house but I am a wise house. I may squeak and creak, but that's simply my way of letting little bits and pieces of knowledge escape. I can't contain all of it and I choose to share it with them. The humans.
For the teenage girl, Emma, who tried to sneak out last Thursday. I knew her fate. The girl was going to a party and I knew what her boyfriend wanted to do to her. It was not an act of love. I squeaked my bottom step, scaring the living daylights out of her. Needless to say as her parents stirred, she tiptoed back up to her room and did not exit again.
For the woman, Victoria, many years ago who was unfaithful to her husband. Kissing and touching another man in her husband's very own bedroom, I as well knew her fate.
My doors are loud and heavy, you can seldom open a door silently or even quietly, even back in those days. As Victoria's husband arrived home early from his work, you can bet every door he opened and shut was silent. And Victoria was caught with her lover.
I have helped along these many people, I have exposed them. Teaching them lessons that they needed to learn. But the years have worn away my embellishments. They have ripped and snagged at the wall paper, torn the foundations to shreds. My wisdom at first made the floorboards squeak, but now they pop and break if you step in the wrong place. I can feel the aching in my bones, in the beams that are my skeleton, holding me together. I can feel my walls losing themselves, slowly crumbling and crashing down.
Emma lived to a ripe old age, bearing 3 children and raising them well until they left her. She had cancer, and not one of those children wanted to help her. So I tried to, taking pity on the old woman who was feeling the strains of age as I was feeling mine. Eventually she passed, leaving me in possession to her wicked children who wanted nothing to do with me. I don't blame them. As they came to survey me and inventory my secrets, I could see their eyes. I could feel their unease. I reminded them of their past, of their guilt. Of how they abandoned their sweet old mother in her neediest time. I represented that, and they, in turn, resented me.
So they scheduled a date to kill me.
The beeping of the trucks come too soon. They are large, but the hammers seem larger. I can feel the workers permeating my doors, entering without my permission. I attempt to slam my doors and windows shut, keeping them out. Instead they yell. Cries of the devil and of haunted houses, ghosts and ghouls. None of which exist, at least, not within my walls. And this only makes them start from the outside, ripping apart the outer walls, scratching off the paint that was mostly chipped to begin with and breaking all my windows.
Without my walls and my eyes, I am blind.
They are ruthless, jumping in through every nook and cranny they can find. Destroying me, taking me apart one by one. I can no longer remember the people I have served. The memories are slowly fading. My mind tries to grip and grasp onto them but I can't, I simply can't.
My resolve is fading but their efforts are slowing. They don't stop until they leave me with nothing but foundation and my beams, the few things they can never take from me. As little as this is, I cling to it until day fades to night, the sun leaving me. And eventually I am gone too, leaving nothing but a skeleton in my wake.
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140,159 Literary Works • 673,032 Reviews
Hi!
I enjoyed this story. I love how you wrote from the point of view of the house. It gave the whole story an interesting aspect. The imagery used is very good. I liked how the house recalled events that had happened within its walls and explained how it interacted with its owners. The personification was very neat. The sentence structure is a bit choppy but not bad. Just a few of the sentences do not flow well. Overall, great job! Well done!
-LW
Timmy here
I thought this was the most unique idea you have ever had in your writing. Seriously. When I read through this, the thing that kept circulating through my mind was, "Wow". You constantly doubt yourself while writing, and I don't understand why. This piece was just so epic, so emotion-packed and so... wise. I could hear the admonishing creaks in the house, and the stories you spun in my mind was so beautiful - taking me through the ages of this house. And, of course, the motto of the story was simply amazing - like usual. You don't learn from your mistakes unless you're discovered in the act.
So one thing you do quite often in your writing (well, not quite often - but often enough for me to take notice) is that you have a tendency to put disjointed parts of sentences. So when I take this sentence above for a good example, you have two complete sentences crammed together like a sandwich, but there is nothing in-between to smooth over the transition into the next half. You need a conjunction or something - anything to smooth over the edges after that comma. I would either find a way to patch this together with the use of conjunctions, or try to put it together without the use of commas at all. I think you can do that.
This is weird. You know that normally when I come in, I can always find so much to say, and I just ramble on about little things I think you could improve upon. But in this piece, I am just left speechless. You know what? To me, it is a piece of prose. I don't actually know much about poetry and all that, but this seems so much like poetry. When I read through it, the piece has that sort of idea and message - like a piece of prose would. I believe prose is supposed to be like poetry with character development or some such. A short story in poetry format or something similar (you can tell how hopeless I am at this, can't you?). Anywho, I think you did a wonderful job with this, and was really emotional and powerful. I loved the story and the message you gave out with this, and the idea of a house... just perfect. Especially the whole part with the windows being the eyes and everything. Again, I am not an expert in this field at all, but I think it was a very original idea - one of your best stories. If not your very best.
There wasn't much to say in this review.
~Darth Timmyjake
Hi Gravity!
Wow, there isn't much to critique on this writing. Good job! I really liked the concept of the perspective from an inanimate object. I have never read a story from the point of view of a house. Great job on the writing as well. It was flawless. Your personification was great and I did not catch any major errors.
Keep up the great work!
~Cheer
Hey, Grav! Stormsie here to review for you tonight on behalf of the Earthbenders. Let's get started!
Here, you said, "Emma lived to a ripe old age, bearing 3 children and raising them well until they left her." Instead of "3," it should actually be "three." Fun fact! Also, you wrote: "I represented that, and they, in turn, resented me." at the end of this paragraph. Instead of "represented," did you mean "resented?" It would parallel the phrase, "...resented me." Just thought to point that out if you meant something else.
First, I just wanted to say that I love your opening line. I don't know, but something about it just really drew me in tight. "My windows are like eyes. I suppose I see everything, but at the same time, nothing at all. It's one of those thought provoking introductions that allow the reader insight to the speaker's lifestyle and thoughts without blatantly announcing, "Hey! Here's what I think!" I commend you.
"I am an old house, but I am a wise house." That moment when I realized it was the house narrating the story. xD I don't know if that was an intentional plot twist or if I'm just so out of it that I wasn't paying full attention, but I like it anyways.
As this short story progresses, I fall more and more in love with it. I really like the overall premise and how you wrote about the house protecting some of the owners; it's an interesting take I've never had the pleasure to read about just yet. Well, until now. Obviously. Anyways, thumbs up. (At the beginning of the sixth paragraph, I couldn't help but imagine this house as a sort of vigilante, by the way.)
With low numbers typically below a hundred, be sure to spell them out.
And then paragraph eight hits me and the tears begin to pool in my eyes. Either I'm particularly emotional today, a grain of sand flew into my contacts, or you, Grav, are highly talented at portraying emotions. I believe it's the latter.
THEN. I got to the end. It kind of reminds me of "The Giving Tree" in a way. And now I may or may not be shriveling up into a sad little Stormsie ball. No, don't apologize. That's what great writing is supposed to do to a person. This was truly a short story that I thoroughly enjoyed the pleasure of stumbling upon, Grav. Great work here! Thank you for sharing, and as always: Write on!
This was great when i saw the title I thought another ghost story but when I read it i was shocked at how flawless is was the pace was set from the start and stayed even all throughout the piece and needless to say the personification in this writing is suberb there's really nothing i can give advice on it was preety perfect keep up the good work and happy writing