Mr. Taylor

Abandoned Building: Sample

I didn’t know what my parents were talking about as they sat in the kitchen, whispering to disguise their conversation. It was a code, and the only cryptic meanings I deciphered were abandoned building. . .sick. . .tired. I couldn’t determine everything being said, but I had enough information to finish the puzzle. And the solution led to an abandoned building on a corner lot of downtown St. Louis, where winds cut through flesh and silence remained a fixture within the community.

When I arrived, the rust-colored skyline highlighted the dull brick building. Boarded up windows protected this three-story frame from the anger of winter winds and snow. But the front door remained broken, hanging from its frame, to forever knock within every strong breeze. Cigarette butts and broken beer bottles filled with stagnant water littered the side of the building, forcing an unnatural erosion. Patches of brown grass speckled the yard to serve as a reminder of the pain felt by this location.

As I approached this forgotten building, yellow crime-scene tape futilely tried barricading my path down the winding concrete sidewalk. Walking past the termite-infested porch and down the dark, urine soaked hallway, I finally saw what my parents were talking about. I understood why they fell

silent when they heard the story.

Curled in a fetal position on cracked floorboards, a man was wrapped in a torn army blanket. He was once probably one hundred and fifty pounds. But now, he looked like a sick child--thin and weak. His copper skin was sunken in, and protruding cheek bones etched his skeletal frame into his wrinkled skin. He probably had a son. Or a daughter. At least they didn’t have to see him like this. A soldier fallen.

A leather belt wrapped his arm; a syringe clung to his vein, perpendicular to his sagging forearm. A faded blue tattoo read Live For Freedom. And a tattered purple ribbon attached to a bronze medal hung from his partially-closed hands.

The harsh night sky glared down upon us, and her rage shook the rooftop, reminding me of insignificance. I removed a board from a window, so the moonlight could shine through. Turning around, I walked back past the hallway, past the police tape, and past the broken bottles into the silence of night and the howl of remembering.

Audience: college students