The Barn
In my aggravated haste to prove Joseph wrong, I stumbled through the back door and was immediately struck by a gust of soiled memories. The musty aroma took me aback but I was anxious to find out for myself. The barn smelled of decaying old things; horrors left unspoken and technological artifacts that had become useless in the wake of progress. A broken tractor missing its engine, a cracked mirror hanging from the rafters, the old rusty chicken coop now empty and quiet, and of course the pig pens, still covered in mucky waste. In the back of the barn is where I kept my old foot locker and so I staggered there determinately. But when I found it, half covered in gloom though it was, I saw it had already been opened. Instinctively I knew, as I did my own progeny, that Joseph had been correct after all. Apart from my old uniform, my pistol had been removed. Also missing was the black and white photograph I kept of the family back in 1912. I thought of those things and where they were now and I could not stop myself from sobbing, eyes dug in deeply shut, fists clenched, crumpled on the cold dirty floor. I knew I would never see those personal effects again.
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