It was a crooked little house, the imperfect kind that you could tell must have been hand-built. Sand-colored stones looped around the windows, lopsided squares of glass thrown and squeezed together at the front of the house. A chimney jutted off to the side, a sloped roof poking out beside it. A tree curled up from along the other side, pressing into the roof as if to hold it up.

It was so beautifully human, something no machine could design. The world was too precise these days that sometimes people forgot the art in mistakes. They’d forgotten this house too, leaving it to deteriorate alone, just like the world it had once been apart of.

Only those who once lived there could attest to its memory, if their souls still lingered to see it. And anyone who meandered by the lone building suspected something did linger

Hello, friends!

I have another prompt for you today and a short, simple example response to go with it. What comes to mind when you see this house? Something spooky or something quaint? Tell me your story in the comments! Also feel free to leave any other questions, requests, or otherwise in the comments as well. Don’t forget to like this post if you enjoyed it and follow me for more writing content.

Thanks for reading!

There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.
― Maya Angelou