That Special Something

• Hannah Thomas, Grade 8
• Short Story
• 2013

The grass was green, I saw this right away. The house was fine too, big, sturdy and painted in a dull grey. But as I looked around, something seemed missing. There was no warmth, no comfort. A big glass door seemed cold and forbidding. The plain windows stared, their mournful eyes making me shiver. I reluctantly followed my parents into this cold, dark tomb echoing of many dead memories. The plain white rooms resisted our entry and the friendliness it gave to others was not open to us intruders. I imagined it once, when its family resided within it. Perhaps then it had been nice and complete. Now, though, it was lacking a heart and ours was not acceptable. My parents looked at each other and shook their heads. We could not live here. It was just a house. We needed a home.
We returned to our car, saddened by the results of another futile trip to look at a house. We had been to four houses already today and each had been lacking something. This something was not anything I could describe in words. It was just a feeling. A feeling that my parents and I shared and could not ignore.
After talking among themselves my parents told me that we would look at just a few more before returning to the apartment we rented. I felt that we would never find a home with just the right amount of the special something we needed. This thought saddened me and I dreaded the idea that we would have to settle with a sturdy, reliable house with no personality.
We drove for a while until we came to an old-fashioned gate that made my eyes gleam. This looked promising, as did the name on the gate. ‘Bluebells Cottage’ read my parents, smiling thoughtfully. We turned our car into the driveway and drove down.
The old farm cottage was neglected. Enclosed by empty bush, it sat forgotten and empty in the middle of nowhere. A quaint veranda surrounded the house. Its windows, once shining and inviting now sat like longing eyes. Never-ending trails of ivy replaced brightly coloured curtains, covering the old and cracked glass.
The once cherished garden was now delightfully overgrown. Roses, left alone to fend for themselves, domintated, their bright colours pushing above all else. The charming arbour still stood, rising like a queen looking down upon her untidy subjects. Despite a lack of human care, new buds still blossomed, flourishing under the undivided care of rain and sunshine.
The pleasant sound of laughter from long ago still seemed to be singing. The ever-joyful gurgle of a small stream joined the voice of birds and crickets. Never standing in silence, tall gumtrees added to the sound with gentle wind.
These are the things we saw, heard and understood as we stood looking at the house that we somehow knew possessed the special something we needed and would accept our heart and truly become our home.