Young Writers Society

"Milord, your son has arrived." the servant said. His son Todd entered the room.

"How you doin' Dad?"

"Quite well, thank you son. Now there's something I need to tell you."

"I'm listening."

"One of these days, I'm going to fall asleep and never wake up. When that happens, I want you to take care of the castle for me. Will you do that?"

"Of course, Dad." Todd said.

For the life of him, Lord Winneburg could not understand why his son and others spoke to him so casually. His maid Harriet was the only one who ever called him "milord" and that took a while. He also could not understand why he had been removed from his castle and taken to this white, smelly, ugly place of misery.

"Also, I have another request. I do not want to die here. I would rather die in my castle. Can you arrange that?"

"Sure thing, Dad."

One week later, Lord Winneburg was transported back to his castle. It smelled old and musty, his favorite scent in the world. The smell of home sweet home.

"How you feelin, Grampa?" Todd's 3-year-old daughter Martha asked.

"Quite fine, thank you, my dear."

Meanwhile, in another room, Harriet was talking to Tom.

"Should we tell him?" she asked.

"No, it would only make him upset. We want him to die in piece."

Lord Winneburg asked for the presence of some dear family and friends he had known for years to hear his final words.

"My dear family and friends, I do not want you to mourn my death, but rather honor it and let the whole village honor it too. I want you not to look upon my memory in sadness, but rather remember all the good times we have had together in fondness. I am sorry that I must leave this world, but the Winneburg legacy shall live on in my son Todd. And with that, I bid thee farewell, for I have no business to take care of. Farewell, my loved ones." He closed his eyes, never again to open them.

A few days later, at the funeral, Todd delivered his eulogy.

"My father was a good man. He worked hard to support Mom and me, and he taught me to always believe in myself and work hard.

But when he was 50, as he was driving himself and my mom home from my wedding reception, they had a terrible run-in with a drunk driver. Mom died, but he miraculously survived.

However, he did not survive unscathed. The accident did something odd to his brain. He still remembered who we all were, but he had forgotten where, when, and even who he really was.

He was convinced that he was Lord Winneburg, an old-time English lord. Anytime we tried to convince him otherwise, he firmly refused to believe us. This rendered him unable to work, yet he still continued to love us.

Last week, he asked me to make sure he died in his 'castle' and take care of it for him when he died. He taught me one last thing in these last days. Whether you live in a mansion, an apartment, a shack, a house, or whatever else you might live in, your home is your castle. Take good care of it."