Written By: Johnny
hey guys, pulling back the curtain a bit, It was my turn to write an entry this week and I started my draft about Legend of Zelda but never finished. You’ll get that blog later. For now, I reached back to a creative writing entry I did a year ago, enjoy.
I had a very special place I went to as a child. It’s out of the way a bit for anyone who had things to do. But as a kid you always end up having time to kill, I used most of my time exploring the woods around my home. When I was a child I called this place the prison, but since revisiting I’m sure it never held a prisoner. There is certain tranquility in this place, you walk from a side road to a deserted street, past the road block gate the pavement begins to crumble and roots begin to corrupt the even pavement. Walk the length of a football field on this broken road and make a left on a dirt footpath, twenty feet into the thick you’ll begin to see the crumbled ruins of a home that is overgrown with vine, you can walk through the doorless threshold into this beautiful vastness of nature, the back wall is collapsed and behind its overgrown cement lays a beautiful field. The crumbled wall on the right of the house leads a ramp over the garage that is stable enough to stand on.
As a child I used to go to this place for quiet. I would sit upon the garage and close my eyes and listen to the world around me. Isolated from humanity I found peace in these crumbled ruins of someone’s old home and over the years I would revisit this place when I needed to get away. I returned recently in the cold of winter to see a different layout.
Snow covered the ground so the path was hard to find at first, when I stumbled upon it I walk up to a stone black wall covered in graffiti, I passed the threshold into the snow covered land of the supposed living room of this house, and graffiti on the walls announced a presence I was unfamiliar with. When I was young, these crumbling walls were “fresh”, someone has been in my sanctuary. I never claimed it as my own so I was not troubled by this clear obstruction of a place I considered at peace. I’ve grown accustomed to climbing the wall and sitting down on the garage but in the years that have passed it seems the roof has collapsed.
The withering trees in this coat of cold winter surround this place and my sanctuary seems empty, dying. I am not familiar with this place as I was as a child. But I spend my time giving way to my thoughts, letting my surroundings overwhelm me. I am content.
Over the years I notice a particular societal influence over my sanctuary. I’ve grown accustomed to it and made peace with it, because as my vivid memory of my own special place fades into the recesses of my mind, society takes it away as well.
So yeah, hope you enjoyed it. I think I wrote it for some kind of connect to nature bullshit college class. But I think its a good metaphor for connecting to our childhoods. Reliving the same things we experience as children doesn’t ever come close to the real memory. But I love grasping onto the sands of time that is nostalgia, it eventually slips through your fingers but the memory lives on. Anybody else have a secret spot like this as a kid?