The Farmhouse
By Joanna, age 20, South Wales, United Kingdom
Sweet Designs Featured Writer
The farmhouse crouched silently in the midst of this scene, empathising with the lonely sheep. It too had once been loved and cherished, but now it faced the countryside alone, a warrior battling nature's army. Ivy twisted delicately around the broken windows and vacant doorframe, snaking around corners that had been crafted long ago. Cobwebs sat gently in the folds of the farmhouse, spiders spinning softly to pass the time. A battered space where a roof had once rested spilled the last traces of daylight across the marred floors, highlighting earthy footprints of the farmer who had once called this humble dwelling home.
A fallen candlestick stirred atop a paisley tablecloth, left strewn across the table where the farmer had once eaten. Plates filled the sink, accompanied by ice-cold water that had once been willing to cleanse them. A beetle scuttled across an empty worktop in alliance to the spiders' plight to bring life back into this skeleton.
The sun, weary from a hard day's work, began to sink down into restfulness, leaving silken traces of the glow it had cast on favoured corners of the land. The farmhouse was drowned in a dim, lazy light that emphasised its character.
The farmhouse seemed to be comfortable with dusk, as if it had never belonged to any other time. Stars began to come out of hiding, lurking over the country like omniscient eyes. They took up their posts, like they did every night, to watch over the farmhouse the way an eagle watches over a mouse. They had seen the farmer, and they knew of his tragedy. None fell to honour him. None cared for a solitary mortal.
Only the unfaltering gleam of the omniscient eyes had led the farmer home that night. He let himself in, just like any other evening. He made himself a drink, just like any other evening. Only the still sky that held the cruel moon suspended above the fields could have predicted the storm. The winds that night were indecisive, frolicking in the air as if time did not exist. The rain waited patiently for a silent signal, anticipating havoc.
The unforgiving thunder struck viciously at the world that had caused his wrath. His anger knew no bounds and as he struck the sky bellowed, expressing its mutual hatred for mankind. In the midst of all this rage, an innocent was struck. The farmhouse wept as thunder tore through its defences to strike its heart, the man who lived within. Aghast, he could do nothing other than sink to the ground, his heart admitting defeat as it slowly ceased palpitation.
