This was an english assignment, we had to created the beginning of a story. i may or may not finish the story though...
My Aunt's House's Intricate Feelings
The car drove up the long winding driveway. The neighborhood that my great-aunt lived in was quite quaint. Small cottages lined the street, each with it's own garden, but my aunt's house was different. Her property stretched far beyond the street unlike the cottages. The house, if it could be called a house, looked dignified next to the humble cottages, but the rest of the property did not look much like the house, though. It was unkempt, but not overgrown. The property, dried out, left the dignified house looking dry and neglected, asking to catch fire.
Through the windows of the car, I saw everything. The car seemed unwilling to go up the hill, sensing the unreliable nature of the property. The drive up took much longer than any other part of the trip, almost as if the driveway got longer the more time we spent on it.
Even as the car tried to gain ground, the house changed also. First I saw a somewhat Victorian mansion, but as the car got closer, it looked larger and more like a Roman villa. The details of the house became much more apparent but what concerned me more and more was the constant rustling of the curtains. Several people watched the car from each floor, held still by the silky curtains. The windows pulled them close, not letting go until they had time to process who was coming and why, and even then, the windows kept them hostage only to release them when the jobs called them back to their other duties as slaves.
The balcony held hostage a couple of women who couldn't seem to stop chattering away about the most mundane things. Their cups kept on refilling themselves, obligating them to stay longer as the chairs tangled around the women to keep them in place. The women's clothing squeezed the air out of them, while the tea, much more compassionate than the hot dry air around them, tried to quench their thirst. A suit propelled a pasty man to the entrance onto the balcony. His brush had arranged his hair; his gel had spread itself over the little trufs of hair that were left. Words came out of the man, the hats nodded the women's heads, and the suit propelled him away. The women tried to get up from their chairs, but the chairs wouldn't have it. The chairs spoke to the hats who whispered conversations into the ears of their slaves. Words poured out of the women's mouths against their will. Their make-up even creating corresponding facial expressions.
The car pushed up the hill, but the gravel did not enjoy its company, so it made the drive more difficult, calling in the wind to help it hinder the intruders. The car got upset and pushed even harder to get up the hill and get out as quickly as possible. As the car wound up the hill, random branches flew at it, damaging the paint and making the car more upset. Rocks jumped on it; sand crawled into all the cracks it could. The road shifted, creating holes and bumps jostling the car and its occupants.
The car got to the top of the hill, no thanks to the road, and settled to rest at the front of the house. The house looked upset, furrowed eyebrows shaped into a scolding look. The windows kept all the hostages they could to watch the car as it stood on the gravel, who was upset that it could not do anything about the car. My clothing encouraged me out of the car, but I could feel everything on the grounds watching, the windows gluing the people to them, the chairs on the balcony turning the women to face the car. Everything was very upset that I had come to my aunt's house.