The Barn

I decided that maybe posting the writing assignment for you was wussing out. So I won't.

Age had discolored the bright white trim and crinkled it like old flesh. The sun shone down, highlighting every flaw. The nails that held the splintered boards were rust. The paint had chipped away, leaving only patches of red to cover the wood. The loft was bare. Wind shoved the structure back and forth, stretching and straining its weary frame.

Inside, there were different compartments for different animals. Compartmentalized, so the activities were separate. So that milking the cows didn’t distract the pigs from their slop.

The barn had been there for decades. Now it stood, decaying from the inside, on a blanket of wildflowers.