At the top of Sycamore Hill, where the once neatly trimmed grass had become wild foliage, was an old house. Old houses are often perceived as if not retaining the spirits of its previous tenants they are at least thought to have retained their owner’s history. This house was no exception.
Like most old houses set atop old hills, weather had taken its toll. The bricks were worn and faded from their red, pink, black shades. The softened wooden door looked as if one more heavy night of rain could take it down. The bricks were oddly shaped; uneven almost-rectangles stacked upon each other in the haphazard pattern that bricks always seemed to be placed in.
The grass although overgrown was as lush and green as ever, without any third party assistance. The rain tended to it as well as the most skilled of gardeners could. There was an old and worn gravel pathway leading straight from the door that had seen better days. The pathway led to an old, broken fence that looked as if a child had built it with toy logs. Some of the planks had given way and had broken into two. Others stayed together, as they were thicker, stronger. Or maybe it was just luck. Maybe their time to break was coming soon.
Just outside the fence was a post box, its metal had rusted and transformed into a rich red-brown, the surface was as pockmarked as an acne-ridden teenager.
The sun was setting. The house didn’t know. The house was not aware that it had been alone for many sunsets. The purple, red, yellow shades shone incandescently onto the house, casting it in a certain glow could leave a bystander awe-struck. The house didn’t know.
When the sun rose the next morning, the house was not aware of the car approaching. Out of the car stepped two men. One tall and i...
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...hone out of his pocket and turned on the camera. Even though he supported the old house, he was wary to move around too much in fear of falling into the basement. He tried to stay where he was — he would not be going upstairs. The picture he snapped of the old, wooden stairs would hopefully explain his motives.
The men left and the house was left alone for a month’s worth of sunsets before that day came. It was demolition day. The house didn’t notice the bulldozer pulling up to it, smashing down the high grass that had protected it for so many sunsets. It did not notice the odd shovel-claw burying into it, tearing it to pieces. It did not notice the rusted mailbox getting smashed, and it did not notice the stable pieces of the fence being forced to break their bonds. It did not notice when the bulldozer left hours later.
The house did not notice that it was no more.
Inside the house there were “piles of Tupperware and glass dishes” (19). Outside there was a shed, garden, trees, and a river. There was an office. There were “brass numbers” hanging “on the front porch” (19).
"The house is 10 feet by 10 feet, and it is built completely of corrugated paper. The roof is peaked, the walls are tacked to a wooden frame. The dirt floor is swept clean, and along the irrigation ditch or in the muddy river...." " ...and the family possesses three old quilts and soggy, lumpy mattress. With the first rain the carefully built house will slop down into a brown, pulpy mush." (27-28)
It is a symbol created through the actions of law-makers, regulators, architects, and landowners who had previously and knowingly allowed the construction of the house upon sacred grounds and the desecration of burial site. Furthermore, the mound of narrator is described as “clearly marked” and well taken care of, thus proving that the colonizers from before were indeed willingly ignorant to the pre-existing graves on the land. The repetition of the line “renovating back hoeing new patio, new deck, new view” provides criticism on how colonizers are always seeking for more and can also be interpreted as historical commentary on how initial colonizers, blinded by greed for more land,
...turned east onto the gravel country road and then onto the track which led back to the old house with the rusted hogwire strung around it and the stunted elm trees standing up leafless inside the rusted wire.” (125). In this line the fence represents the emotional wall that the brothers have erected to keep everyone out. Then Victoria comes and gives their house homey touches and they realize that they can’t keep everyone out forever. “Now the wind started up in the trees, high up, moving the high branches. The barn swallows came out and began to hunt leaf-bugs and lacewinged flies in the dusk. The air grew soft.” (301).
Ralph heard the night watchman call lights out. The moon gleaming in the window was the only source of light within Ralph’s room now. Even in the dim light he could make out the sink and toilet. The room was padded, and the door had a glass window that reflected fluorescent light into the room. The combination of the artificial and natural light created a faint glimmer upon the mirror that hung above the sink.
Just about everyone in St. Louis has heard about the Lemp Mansion Haunting and the tragedies that befell the family. But what very few realize is that wasn’t the beginning of the sad Lemp Family saga, it was the end. What we know today as the Lemp Mansion wasn’t built by Lemp Family; it was actually built by another prominent St. Louis Family, the Feickerts. The Feickert Family started building the future Lemp Mansion in 1868. At the time, this was located in what would become one of the most opulent neighborhoods in the Midwest and it wasn’t even located in the city limits of St. Louis. In 1868, the future Lemp Mansion was located in an unincorporated area known as “The Commons,” and it was the hottest real estate market in the area. St. Louis was growing at such a pace that city planners couldn’t keep up with the ever-increasing demands of its population. Such rapid population growth and poor city planning left St. Louis citizens vulnerable to crime, disease outbreaks, and sanitation issues that killed thousands. Living in the commons was not only a sign of prestige but also one of security and safety.
Filban said the home had a yard that was overgrown. “The trees and bushes were overgrown, and the house was dark,” Filban said. “And the windows were covered.” She and her sister slept in the front bedroom of the house. She remembers the bedroom having a large, floor-to-ceiling window. She said you could look out and see the wra...
When Willy and Linda purchased their home in Brooklyn, it seemed far removed from the city. Willy was young and strong and he believed he had a future full of success. He and his sons cut the tree limbs that threatened his home and put up a hammock that he would enjoy with his children. The green fields filled his home with wonderful aromas. Over the years, while Willy was struggling to pay for his home, the city grew and eventually surrounded the house.
The poignant use of diction throughout the short story, mostly in the action segment, subliminally demonstrated the positive aspects of destruction. The author goes into Mr. Thomas' mind and illustrates the opinion that, " but why should burglars engage in what sounded more and more like a stealthy form of carpentry?" By comparing the destruction of Old Misery to a respectable occupation, the author shows a manner of destruction interpreted positively. In the midst of the action, the author mentions " they worked with the seriousness of creators." Such a statement indicates the complexity of the work occurring at the house: there was more afoot than mere destruction. Through explicit depictions of thoughts and actions within the story, the author reveals a hidden message of human nature, in that not all destruction is evil.
“The discoloration of the ages had been great, minute fungi overspread the whole exterior, hanging in a fine tangled web-work from the eaves. Yet this was apart from any extraordinary dilapidation. No part of the masonry had fallen; and there appeared to be a wild inconsistency between its still perfect adaptation of parts, and the crumbling condition of the individual stones.” The usher family was an ancient one, and the narrator makes it clear that the years have t...
At 4:00pm on a Monday afternoon, owners and residents of the houses in the Westerville neighborhood return from their various workplaces and jobs. They move quietly into their houses while their kids move in the same way, passing through the gates and shutting them behind them. On both sides of the streets, the homes are built to face the road sides with extremely clean street gutters. Some buildings are made of brownstones and well furnished with beautiful colorful flowers like pinkish white carnations and purple delphiniums. The flowers are planted at each corner of the gates. Some other buildings are palatial; they are a little more spacious than others, with no gates but with a bigger lawns and fresh, greener grass. The gates of the other houses are made
Poe is able to easily compare the outward appearance of the house to the narrator 's mind and how “there appeared to be a wild inconsistency between its still perfect adaptation of parts, and the crumbling condition of the individual stones” showing that while he seems to be wholly sound there are parts of his mentality that are crumbling (Poe 6).
It was a crisp night in mid autumn. Outside of the unlit houses wind tore through the city, rattling the windows & doors of creaky houses, and waking many who were peacefully sleeping just moments before. The few attentive enough to take notice of it were still blissfully unaware of what had just occurred.
The house was old. My grandmother lived in it most of her life. The house was
Many sands had the tree known; many green neighbors had come and gone, yet the tree remained. The mighty roots had endured such whips and scorns as had been cast upon it, but the old tree had survived, a pillar of twisted iron and horn against the now sickly sky. In the waning light of evening, the tree waited.