Short Stories

House

I am old. About 100 years. I lost count after awhile. Instead, I count by families. I am four families old.

The first residents. The people who built be hoping for a new beginning, riding around in their horse. There were three kids in that family. Two boys and a girl. They were cute, a nice family, bakers if I remember correctly. The daughter left to become a teacher. The boys became farmers. The parents lived with me until they died. Then the kids came back and mourned, sold their parents stuff. And I grieved with them after all they were my first family.

My second family only lived with me for about a few years. I don't remember much about them. The only thing I really remember is that they were very mean. Hated fun, hated kids, hated everything. I didn't like them much. I was glad when they moved out.

Next came another family. This one was a family of four. Two little girls. The mom works at the local newspaper. The dad was a chef at the diner. They were a kind, funny family. All of them being a little wacky and weird. They were entertaining, funny always celebrating something. A good grade, a birthday, the rain, just about anything. They replaced some of my wooden floors with carpet. One of the daughters ended up becoming a doctor. The other became a scientist of some sort. They lived there until the two sisters decided to move their two parents into a retirement home.

The last family. My current family. They're young yet. A couple, recently married. I haven't been housing them for long. But hopefully, they're just as good as some of the others. I've has good families. But some haven't been so lucky. The house I was originally built next to set aflame. The one across the street got robbed at some point and has had so many families that I have lost count.

The life of a house isn't a hard one but it's fun all the same.