The Little Brown House

I started doodling on this house earlier tonight and wound up writing a little story on its roof.  After reading it, I thought: “Crap!  This sounds a wee bit like Shel Silverstein’s ‘Giving Tree’!”  Totally unintentional….although it DOES happen to be one of my favorite stories, so it no doubt has influenced my creative thinking process.

Please no hate mail ranting about plagiarism and lack of originality.  I’m not out to win a Pulitzer here….I’m just working through some stuff, Okay-kay?

The Little Brown House

Once upon a time there was a little brown house with no name and no soul.  Until one day, a child found the house.  Every day she would come..and every day she lovingly laid her pen upon the house.  Sharing secrets, telling stories.

After a few years, the house became rather crowded with swirls and hearts and thoughts.  So crowded that there was no longer any room for the girl to write.  This made the girl very sad.  Who now would listen to her dreams and wishes?  Who would lovingly bend an ear as she bared her soul?  WHO?

It wasn’t just the girl’s heart that was breaking.  The little brown house had become alive beneath the ink of a small child.  Now, with her absense, he found a strange pain within him that wouldn’t go away.  If only HE had words of his own to give the child.  Words that expressed gratitude for her companionship and her kindness.  But alas…words were not his to be had.

Soon the girl stopped coming altogether…and the little brown house stood alone.  Waiting.

The words on the house began to fade, the pictures washed away with the Spring rain.  Eventually, the little brown house was torn down, his wooden planks stacked for the paper mill.

The house’s heart and soul died that day…only to be reborn as he felt a familiar hand, pen in hand….loving him once again.

So the little brown house and his girl found each other once again.  He, as paper.  She with pen.

Sharing a life.

Sharing a story.

To this, there is NO END.


One Response

  1. Good use of the house! I can’t read “The Giving Tree” to my girls. It makes me cry, not just get a little misty but scare the girls type of crying.

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