Wood
Each plank ripped away was another tear down my face. Each plank ripped away was another memory losing it’s grip on it’s spot in my mind. In spite of this, my father continued ripping away at the roof’s weather torn wood that made up our family’s barn. A ladder ran up the left side that I stood, but I didn’t want to ascend it to join him. Joining him meant tearing away what had already been built before I was born. Everything I had ever experienced in my short twelve years were to be found inside this barn. All the years of milking cows, collecting eggs, and running after the cats that I could never catch. I walked inside the barn’s side entrance and looked at all of our farm animals, and they didn’t seem to care at all that their shelter was being dismantled. The cows chewed their grass and hay while the chickens clucked noisily in their coops. The cats roamed the windows and the middle path, but I saw no joy in chasing after them.