As many of you know, I dabble in telling stories quite a lot, but I haven't really spoken in length about my origin story. This isn't going to be that post. In due time, all will be revealed. But, for now, I bring you the very first work of fiction I published online.
It's raw, it's dialogue-heavy and it probably has a lot of grammatical errors. Just because it's Tuesday, I have chosen not to edit anything from it and throw it into the blockchain in its purest form.
I recently stumbled upon this again when it was prompted to me as a Memory, and admittedly, I really had forgotten about this. So, without further ado, enjoy!
Silence enveloped the entire house as the man walked across the surprisingly wide corridor, his gaze fixed upon the end of the walkway. A sea of people, bunched up in small clusters, were littered all across the domicile, their mouths moved and tongues wagged but the man could not hear a word. He wasn't physically incapable of hearing, no; he just seemingly didn't care about the chatter or the company and it wasn't really at all his choice. All throughout his life the man has been paired with or grouped with like-minded individuals that, at first, seemed to mirror the man's interests and character but almost always end up as faded contrasts. He had enough of it, he wanted to get away from it all. His last foray left him as a shell of a man he once was. Never has he felt so alone and he has grown tired of it. He wanted to start fresh, to regroup. Up until recently, the man has always been caught up in his own affairs that he failed to hear when the universe called. This time was different, this time he swore that no noise shall hinder him from listening.
Whenever he would take a step, the man ever so slightly dragged his trailing foot before he would lift it up. He loved the sound his shoes make against the hardwood floor and he didn't show the slightest care whether anyone else in the vicinity judged him for it. He had been trotting around the house for quite some time now and no one even seemed to notice him, and he wouldn't have it any other way. It wasn't that the other people were apathetic of his presence, it was just that the man had a way about him that made him seem impervious to attention.
He hummed a tune of his childhood and stopped in front of the marble fireplace near the center of the house where one other man was situated. He immediately noticed a crack and suddenly felt a sense of disappointment. In all his travels, the man consciously avoided meeting someone else's gaze so as not to engage in lengthy conversation, and if fortunate no conversation at all. In the corner of his eye, he tried to observe how the other man would react to the disfigure without saying a single word. To his dismay, the other man walked away with an almost angry disposition plastered across his face. With nothing else to interest him, he took out his phone and thumbed through it, trying to look busy before he would ultimately decide to leave.
From across the other side of the living room an older man approached him. He looked dapper, wearing a suit and tie that would better befit a man attending a gala in his honor. The older man held papers on one hand and a phone on the other. The older man commanded attention that the younger man couldn't help but meet his gaze.
“I see you've taken a liking to the fireplace,” the older man coyly asked.
The younger man turned his eyes toward the fireplace hoping that the older man would grow tired of waiting for a response and just leave.
“The wooden finish of the interior gives the house that kind of, how do you say it, old country feel,” continued the older man. “It's cozy,it's homey, it makes you want to come home early every after a long,tiring day.”
The younger man continued to thumb through his phone, trying to look busy, still hoping to disenfranchise the older man. He didn't want to engage in small talk and the older man that stood beside him proved to be no exception.
“Ah what am I saying?” said the older man. “I'm not trying to sell you this house! No, you don't want that – I'm trying to make you realize potential.”
The older man noticed that the younger man was uninterested and decided to decrease his intensity. He pocketed his phone and rolled up his papers. He rested his hand on the fireplace as he devised a new approach of getting through the younger man. He stroke his oil-laden hair and used his tongue to wet his lips, as he began his revised effort.
“I've seen you before, yeah?” asked the older man, as he turned towards the younger man. “In two other open houses just this week, you were there.”
“Yeah,” replied the younger man, realizing that his cold shoulder approach might not be the most effective way to get the older man to stop conversing with him.
“Ah! I was right,” exclaimed the older man, delighted that he might have finally cracked the younger man. “That's why you look so familiar.Found anything you like in this house?”
“I like it a lot, it feels just right.”
“But what? Speak frankly.”
“I don't like used houses.”
“This is an open house! I can tell you, though, only one man has lived here before.”
“Did he die or something?”
“No, that's entirely not the case.”
“Then what?”
“It wasn't just meant to be. Do you have kids? A wife?”
“None.”
“Give me something to go with, you're like a sphinx. Help me, help you.”
“You don't have to.”
“I want to. What are you looking for?”
“I'm not looking for anything. Can't a guy just house window shop in peace?”
“No one is looking for nothing. You came here for a purpose, you just don't want to admit it to yourself.”'
“Do you sell a lot of houses with this thing you do?”
“I don't sell houses, kid, I told you that. I sell dreams, I sell lifestyles.”
The younger man sighed in disbelief. He grew tired of the conversation and proceeded to think of a way for a non-offensive exit. He wasn't going to be caught dead in any other open houses in the following weeks, that much he was sure of.
“I sold the two houses you went to earlier this week,” continued the older man. “But, I'd rather not think of it as 'selling,' I'd rather think of it as, let's say, 'matchmaking.'”
“What I really don't get is, how you could sell used houses?”
“How do I sell used houses? Is that what you're asking?”
“I mean, personally I don't want a used house. I want to live in something I built. A house of my own.”
“Buying a 'used' house doesn't make it less of a house. Do you even own your own land to build your house?”
“I will in time, just not right now.”
“Where are you living now? Is it your own?”
“I've rented two previous condominium units, so I guess you could say they aren't really mine.”
“For the time you've stayed there, they were yours.”
“I don't believe that's the case.”
“What makes you think that a preoccupied house is any less yours when the deed would be in your name?”
“It just isn't. I couldn't bear live in a house someone else lived in before.”
“You've lived in condominium units.”
“Rented. It's not the same. I knew there was a time limit, when my lease is up I wouldn't have any obligation to it.”
“You've lived in your parent's house.”
“That's beside the point, and my father built that house from the ground up.”
“Or, so you think.”
“I don't 'think,' I know. My mother could attest to that.”
“Okay, okay,” sighed the older man, slowly running out of ideas. “You see, times have changed, not everyone has the luxury to build their own house from scratch. Not anymore.”
“Why couldn't I be one of those people? Look, I'm not interested, okay?I'm just looking around for inspiration for when I build my own house.”
“Aren't you even the slightest curious of my philosophy of matching houses?”
“Not at all but it seems that whatever I answer, you're going to tell me anyway.”
“The way I look at it, houses built from scratch are all well and good but it's the preoccupied ones that are more interesting. They've stood the test of time.”
“What about the damage around the house?”
“What damage? What are you talking about?”
“It's been used before, unless the person that lived here didn't really live here, of course there would be damage. Look at the floor, look at the walls, this fireplace! Look at that scratch.”
“Oh, here I thought you meant rot or a sinkhole. These scratches and bumps? These aren't damages, these are stories. Walk with me.”
The pair proceeded to walk around while the older man pointed at different places of the house.
“That scratch on the floor,” said the old man. “It might be from, let's say, moving an old piano, who knows? Doesn't that pique your interest even just a little?”
The younger man seemed unmoved but continued to indulge the older man.
“That bump in the wall, might be the result of the old owner punching it for whatever reason,” continued the older man. “The dent on that column, that stain on the counter. You might think that those are flaws but it just adds to the richness of the house. Some might say that this house is stronger because of all of those things.”
“Stronger? How could that be?”
“This house is still standing isn't it? There's a reason those people are here hoping to buy this house.”
“But the thing is, none of them are buying.”
“All for different reasons, who knows what they might be but I can tell you for a fact that it isn't as simple as you might think.”
“It's a used house and I just don't see its use.”
“Your judgement is clouded by your predisposition.”
“So what if it is? If I buy this house, I'll always just keep on thinking that someone else has lived here, ate at that dining table, took a bath at that shower, slept at that bed.”
“And what's the problem with that? All of that is in the past.”
“What's your problem? You can't just say 'Oh, this was all in the past this and all in the past that' just like that, the mark is there. It's always going to be there.”
“So what if there's a mark? It's just that, a mark. A ghost of something that's not there anymore.”
“Doesn't it bother you, though?”
“It doesn't and it shouldn't bother you.”
“Then you go buy this house! Don't force it on me.”
“I would if I could. You see, the thing about it is that even though people think they 'buy' houses, it isn't really the case.”
“By that you mean?”
“People don't choose the house, it's the other way around, you see.”
“So now you're saying that houses can think, can choose, can feel? Is that what you're trying to say?”
“That's what I've been saying all along and I know you know that in your heart from the get-go.”
“What kind of sales pitch is this?”
“Think about them, all those places that you've rented before. They didn't feel quite right, didn't they? You rented them because you didn't want to feel any obligation in keeping them. Let your guard down a bit and listen. All those 'damages' that I've shown you before, they aren't really the flaws that you might think. All of those things give this house its history, its character, its life. Do you understand what I'm getting at?”
The older man crouched down, placed his free hand inside and lit up the fireplace.
“I don't need a museum, I need somewhere I could live.”
“Don't be so bullish to think that you couldn't live here or that you have the power to choose a house. Like I said before, houses choose the people that live within them, you should be so lucky. This crack in the marble that you've been staring at for quite some time. You've been so fixated at this tiny detail that you fail to see the beauty of the entire piece. Every house has imperfections, every person has imperfections, what makes you so different? Don't tell me you don't have your own little quirks.”
“The crack is not tiny at all,” reiterated the younger man, his eyes swelling up trying to get his point across. “You could see the crack from the moment you enter the front door!”
“Could you really?”
“That's the first thing I noticed!”
“Is it really? You keep fixating on this crack that you keep missing the point. You didn't come here to scrutinize the make of the fireplace, you came here for the warmth it could bring. You just bring up these so-called flaws because of your own insecurities. Don't deny yourself of what you felt the moment you entered, no, from the moment you saw this house, even! You know this house is right for you and you for this house, no detail, no matter the gravity, could change that. When it's right, it's right.”
The young man closed his eyes, breathed a heavy sigh and pursed his lips.He couldn't believe at what the older man had just done, he was moved by everything that the older man had said. The older man rolled out the papers he was holding and rested it on top of the marble.
“Are you ready to take the next step?” asked the old man, smirking.
“Don't flatter yourself too much.”
“I don't need a telescope to see when walls have been torn down.”
“Do you own the house where you're living?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Did you build it from scratch?”
“I didn't.”
“Are you happy with it?”
“I tell you, kid. I have never felt happier with anything in my life.Don't deny yourself of the same.”
“I'd have to think about it.”
“I'm telling you, this offer is only going to come once.”
“I don't even know the price, you haven't told me a damned thing!”
“I've told you enough and besides money doesn't really matter.”
“Sure it does.”
“Does it really?”
“How could I buy this house if I don't pay for it?”
“Why? 'Cause you already own it.”
The younger man looked at the paper and, to his surprise, saw his signature affixed to the deed. He looked back to see that the older man wasn't there. In fact, no other person was there. He was alone, but this time it didn't feel like it. He sat down on the varnished, hardwood floor and placed both hands in front of the glowing fireplace. He stared intently at the fire and for a second he could have sworn that the fire stared back at him. He could neither speak nor hear. All that was left for him to do was smile.