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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2101858
Rated: E · Fiction · Emotional · #2101858
The terrace is an interesting object within a quiet neighborhood,but just how interesting?
Calm and serene, the quiet neighborhood of St. Louis, Michigan, had its secrets. One of which was a popular novelty for the local pedestrians to marvel at and wonder what made their eyes glimpse at it for obscene amounts of time. On Straddle Dr., there sat a house with a special accessory for the birds to gather around and perch upon. From a bystander’s point of view, the yellow terrace demanded attention through its skillfully painted bricks and vivid red chairs. Suspended about 100 feet in the air, the terrace was a monument-like figure in a relatively unimpressive suburbia, so it stuck out like a diamond in a pile of stone. The people passing by could be likened to that of an audience, enjoying its striking features. Such as a car wreck naturally draws attention from anyone in the vicinity, the terrace followed suit. Birds flocked to it like kids sprinting down the stairs wide eyed with excitement over the prospect of opening their long awaited Christmas gifts. Yellow, the color of hope and excitement added to the overall mystique and impressionable characteristics the terrace naturally seemed to exhibit; while the red chairs screamed “look at me”.

Mysteriously no one knew who owned the house with the terrace. Not one person was ever seen sitting on the red chairs; only the birds who basked in the sun light entertained everything the terrace had to offer.

This particularly quiet St. Louis suburbia soon became suspicious over what was going on with the seemingly vacant house. Most of the residents put it off as just being abnormal, and left it at that, but one such person decided it was in his best interest to explore everything about the house, and finally put to rest the façade which had materialized around the peculiar terrace. He set off one morning at 6 am sharp, hoping to not draw any attention from prying eyes. The walk to the house was reasonably calm, but his heart beat steadily became more and more rapid as he advanced ever closer to the house. He could see the terrace hovering through the bright green tree leaves, and with no surprise he also saw about 6 birds perched on the railing.

His walk finally lead him to the driveway of the enigmatic house, which curiously was filled with dark brown spots that started to produce hesitation in the man. But he proceeded to the doorway and told himself, nobody was there, so there was nothing to worry about. Reaching forward with a shaking hand, he grasped the dew coated door handle and started to turn the knob with apprehension welling up inside his body. The door swung open and with it, particles of dust, which obscured the man’s vision for a short while. Uncontrollably his hands started to swat away the pesky particles and his vision started to clear up.

The floor of the house was covered in tattered wood with peeling splinters, which made the man progress with caution. To the right sat an old rustic table with equally as rustic chairs. Dust filled every corner the man walked and his airways started to feel the sting of inhaling the dirtiness. At first he tried to limit his amount of coughs, but as time passed he eventually relaxed and started to cough frequently. He noticed several paintings which hung along dark blue wallpaper; many of them were portraits of the same person, a girl. She had striking blue eyes and long blonde hair which filled up most of the picture. The man felt as if the girl were looking into his heart and judging his every move. This couldn’t be escaped because every room he walked in to, hung the beautiful precarious girl.

He started to feel guilty for barging into the house, but figured if someone lived there, they would’ve already heard him and drove him back to wherever he came from. Looking up, the man noticed a couple rays of sunlight which landed on one of the paintings and highlighted just how blue the eyes of the unknown girl were. His gaze began to become transfixed on the girl.

He didn’t know why or how, but he suddenly started to move unconsciously to one of the paintings and just stare. All the man noticed were his eyelashes fluttering up and down; his body felt suspended in time, while his mind raced to thoughts about love and sincerity. The girl’s golden hair mixed with her deeply defined eyes reminded the man of a lost love many years ago. She seemed to call to him on an intensely personal level he had never experienced until now. Excitement began to build up within the man, and with it came hope. Hope for his love to come back and bring with her the meaningful aspects of life he had so desperately missed. Yellow was no longer the color of hope; to him, blue now embodied everything purposeful and lovely. His deepest desires began to reveal themselves in cinematic pictures within the pupils of the girl. Visions of success fused with a happy marriage and kids danced jovially within the dark tiny circles. These events were something that had eluded the man for years and now that he was seeing them play out, it oozed feelings of passion he never knew existed. His mind was lost in a dreamlike state, but eventually reality settled back in.

The ground revealed itself once again along with his surroundings. Depression slowly started to settle in once he realized the euphoric world was just a feigned wonderland. He wanted to relive that feeling forever and never let it evade him again. The painting represented the only incredibly intense happiness which was easily attainable, so he decided to yank it off the wall and dart for the front entrance. Bounding the length of the house with the painting tucked under his arm, he felt confident in his decision. With a single squeak the door opened rapidly. Taking a couple steps outside, he suddenly noticed something in the corner of his eye. Suspended in the air was the yellow terrace.

The terrace didn’t matter to the man anymore. In his hands was the only object in the world that could provide him with any ounce of happiness, so he made sure to concentrate on getting that back home. But while thinking back to the house, he had remembered several spots on the wall that had looked as if they had once been place holders for paintings. He pondered this greatly while on the way back, and realized maybe he wasn’t the first one to insert himself in the empty house.

Interestingly he entertained the idea of the paintings having the same effects on the people before him, and thought to himself what the terrace really stood for.

Was the terrace a beacon of hope? Did it attract curious eyes in order to get them to come in and undergo the same feelings he had so enjoyed? All this was extremely fascinating to the man, and it only added to the mysteriousness behind the terrace. To him the terrace was more that just a hangout for the local birds, but by simply being present for all to see, it acted as a welcome mat to lost souls who so urgently needed the contents within the house. Happily walking along the path to his house, he felt in debt to the person who painted the beautiful terrace and entrancing girl tucked under his arm.


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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/2101858