English 1210: 6:30 TTH
Each townhouse was herded together in packs of eight, all exact replicas of one another. They were small and quaint and housed mostly two person families. The yards were bare and uncared for, except one. The address decals were bold and faux finished with gold and black tarnish that hung on a silver plaque that was hard to miss. The garden was practically professionally tidy and trimmed; there were Pansies, Columbine bushes, Tulips, and strawberry pots that were overflowing with Chicks and Hens. The walk up to the front door was blotted with country blue and black spray paint from small appliance renovations and elementary school projects. The front door looked like an entryway to war, teemed with deep gouges, dents and dings from the fourteen years of furniture and small children that paraded through. Many memories, tired souls, hungry children, and walks of life all sizes and shapes marched through that door.
It was where a home began.
The living room matched the rest of the house. Trinkets adorned the shelving and tables telling stories of a past life. Smoke stained mirrors and robust antique picture frames covered the walls. The curtains were dark and the lights were usually dimmed to light the room with ambience and warmth to appease the eyes after a long day of fluorescents. Walls were the color of honey soaked almonds and added to the peacefulness. It all made you feel safe and comfortable, a bit like being at your grandmother's house.
There was a long stairway leading up to the bedrooms. The walls were plain and you would think the upstairs would be also. To much surprise, the bathroom glowed sea foam green and gave you a clean, refreshed feeling. Without warning, a...