Sunday, November 22, 2009

A story told in six sentences (6S)

By Joseph Lupoli

I was three years old and I trailed close behind Aunt Nancy as she commenced up the snowy walkway with purpose and finality, as though she sought to once and for all remove the inconvenience of unraveling herself from me.

So that’s the place, I thought, when an enormous dark stone house came into view. It had stained-glass windows, but unlike the church next to it, not all the windows were stained glass. The house property was bordered by a tall, thick, black wrought-iron gate; each foreboding spike topped with a pointy arrow.

Above the framed entrance there hung a large black rectangular sign with indented and eerie words painted in gold:


I was not pleased, and judging by the suitcases waiting at the door, this was to be my home…for a long time.



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