Memoirs of a Happy Home

If walls could talk...of course walls can talk. Everything can talk. It's just that very few are able to hear beyond their own reality. All they hear are the creaks and groans of me and my household brethren settling. The entire house can see and hear all within and around it. Mirrors see the most as they are a reflection of what is happening with their range. Windows see the least, for all that they allow others to see through them. But yes, walls can hear and see and talk and even feel far more than one would expect.

I used to speak a lot when I was younger. When I was still learning to hold up the roof. I was able to stand strong through the wet, heavy snows of winter and gales that blew through in the other seasons.

Sure, I developed minor cracks over time. That is to be expected when one has reached my age. I have been plastered and painted and papered over more times than I can count. And still, I held strong.

But now... everything has changed. I faltered when it mattered most.

Bent and broken, my structure slowly crumbles, spreading debris before me. I now experience what I once only caught glimpses of through the windows before they shattered.

Sun blisters me with its brilliant rays. Rain soaks through me, sometimes lightly, sometimes pouring down. Snow and ice lay over me in thick layers. Wind picks up bits of me, tossing them about. I am becoming earth. I can feel the tickle of saplings sprouting from my base.

I remember it all - everything that came before. All that is left are the ghosts of the family that lived for generations within my embrace. My family.

I remember the wails of infants as they entered the world. The patter of their tiny feet running over the floors. Small children reciting their letters and numbers. The older children asserting their independence. I remember young love. Celebrations for holidays and marriages. The more somber gatherings when one of my family left this plain. Their bodies may have laid in state within the home, but they were no longer there. Life and death repeating season after season, year after year.

I remember joy and laughter. Occasional frustration and anger. Tears and sadness. Fear.

And music. So much music. My family loved to dance and sing. Even when there was no cause to celebrate, they would sit around the fire playing their instruments. The brisk sound of a guitar was usually joined by the often lively but sometimes melancholy whine of the violin. The children would diligently repeat the tink, tink, tink of their piano lessons. Sometimes my family would sing along with the songs on the radio or phonograph. No matter where it came from, the music sounded beautiful to me.

I remember the meals cooked, first in the fireplace, then on a cook stove. More recently, my family prepared their food using a modern oven and range. The smells from their meals permeated my very pores.

I remember the light, once small and warm, flickering from the candles. And the slightly large and more consistent flame from the gas lanterns. Eventually, the light blazed brightly from the glass bulbs in the lamps, some of which had been installed directly into the ceiling. They were controlled by switches and wires that resided within me. They could shine for days without stopping.

Then came the whispers around the table of war coming to our corner of the world. All too soon, distant rumbles sent small tremors through me, reverberating in the windows. A whistle in the distance, growing louder by the moment. The lights went out, and I shook violently as flames erupted around me. Everything fell.

From what I can see, most of the other houses around me fell too. It is silent. Too silent. There is no more laughter or music. Not even the whimpers or screams that came with the blast. The only sounds now come from the birds and animals prowling about, looking for food or a suitable home.

I don’t speak anymore. I’ve long since stopped crying.

My family is gone, but they still lay in my embrace, buried under the rubble. No one has come for them. I will take them into the ground with me as the saplings grow into majestic oaks and the forest reclaims its land.