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My Unmovable Life

Everything has a history, everything has a story to tell.

By Daniel MillingtonPublished 2 years ago 3 min read

Time. The unforgiving force that ceaselessly barrages me with every waking moment. My bones ache as they fracture and splinter into tiny pieces that scatter in the wind. A long time ago, I stood tall and proud. Magnificent in structure like a god amongst the tiny blades of grass in this field. Now my skin slowly peels away as rot seeps deep into my body.

Things would be different if I was made of stone, but alas, my creator brought me to life using wood, and wood never forgets. Memories cling within this once joyful carcass, and I sure do have some memories.

I was hand-crafted by my father who laboured hard for weeks bringing me to life piece by piece before finishing with thick coats of warm snug paint that encased my naked body and made me feel whole. I still remember the first time he looked at me, I mean truly looked at me when he was done. Pride shining brightly from his beaming smile spread wide across his face.

In the years to come, I watched all manner of activities happen inside me. You see, my father ran a rather successful farm where he would tend to a wide range of livestock. Some years I would watch in joy as the new-born lambs would bounce around giddy with life. Their carefree bleats echoing off my body as they played amongst themselves.

As they grew older, I would laugh at their protests when being sheared. These fluffy little clouds with the cocky bravado of an ox suddenly being reduced to jittery twig like creatures who I swear could be blown away with a strong gust of wind.

Then came the nightmares. Splatters of blood covered the inside of my body as pools of it almost flooded the floor. I could not understand why my creator would butcher such innocent and precious life after watching it grow from birth. How could he desiccate my very body in such a heinous manner. Each time he raised them, he slaughtered them, and it never got any easier to witness.

You may think that being forced to watch such an atrocity was the worse thing I could have seen but you would be solely mistaken. The darkest day of my life will haunt me till I am nothing but dust.

It was a normal shearing day. The sheep were as nervous as always but today it was taking much longer than usual. My father groaned as he shakily dragged them out of their cage. His once dark brown hair is now as white as the snow that falls upon my own head during the winter months.

A jolt from one of the sheep gave it enough space to break free and make a dash towards the door. My father jumped to his feet ready to give chase before dropping back down to his knees with his hand tightly clutching his chest.

For the first time in my existence, I felt small and powerless as the last weak beats of his heart finally gave out.

My whole body shook with grief as I tried desperately to rattle every bone I had in a hopeless attempt to attract someone nearby. But outside, there was nothing but the slight creak of a wooden barn in the wind gently swaying in the wind.

When they finally found him and took him away, my doors were shut, never to be opened again.

Now I lie here, a broken fragment of the glory I once was with nothing but my memories till even they crumble into dust. So when you see a derelict, run down building, just remember, they will hold a history longer than your very existence. Just imagine the stories they could tell.


About the Creator

Daniel Millington

A professional procrastinator that likes to weave short stories ranging from thought-provoking fiction to imaginative fantasy. Delve into worlds that twist your soul and bring magical creations to life.

I also like cake.

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