We explored the village the other day and it was very hard. I'm staying at my friend Frances'
house, and the village is a trailer park in the woods at our school.
The land has been condemned and they're tearing down the houses, and
almost everyone has moved out. We wondered around the abandoned houses,
explored a few of them. Philippe used to live in one of the houses and
they've torn down his porch. That porch
was where we used to sit and in the light of his kerosene lantern he'd
read a book out loud to us while we bundled ourselves up in warm
blankets and a few of them smoked the hooka. It's empty now, except for a
bookshelf that was too big for his car. We found Frances' old house and
they left a telescope inside it, but we didn't know if they were coming
back for it. The house was so warn out that the roof was made of
leaves, and when we opened the door we were showed to old brown leaves
and it felt so haunted and wonderful. On our way out we found a tree
house that kids used to play in and we climbed it. There were piles of
wood and bricks everywhere. It's so hard to watch it go. Kids from the
village were always exploring the woods near the school, and no matter
where you went--didn't matter if you were miles away from
anywhere--you'd randomly see a group of kids playing in the woods, and
they'd stare at you, wondering what an adult was doing there. They were
like fairies, and now they're going. It's like the heart of the school
is being ripped out. Why do beautiful, wonderful things have to go away?
I don't know. it hurts though. That village was well loved, it's been
there for as long as the school has, hundreds of families over
generations have lived there--and it's gone.
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