Hunter Point Narrative

What was once a beautiful but small lawn with grass is now a patch of dead grass with dirt exposing itself under the grass. What was once the creaky barn doors are completely destroyed, with broken glass on the ground on the outside, leading to the inside. What was once the living room where I had spent so much time watching television and playing games with my siblings, now has its carpet completely torn up, walls indented, and closet in complete shambles with light gleaming sharply through the holes of the closet from holes that were made by vandals who never knew the true value of the humble abode that I used to reside in. My old home, since being lived in by me and my family has since been abandoned by the family that we had entrusted the house to previously. Now the house just stays there, an eerie empty shell of what it used to be. A place where I was safe and happy, now a dark and scary place that no one deserves to live in, a place that humans have indeed used well, so well that there is nothing left of what it used to be. That image of the house was the last I saw it, back in 2010, It is possible now that the house had since been destroyed, with the memories that have been carved into the walls, fireplace, windows, closets, and bedrooms, are now nothing more but a blur of destroyed objects that will one day be removed, as people pass by the home that once was will never be able to see its clarity, but instead will only be able to see the blur of colors protruding from the exterior of the house, or perhaps the brown of the barn like doors, or the patches of green still rising from the dead grass that surrounds it, until eventually, it simply disappears completely invisible to the city that used it ever so

The roof looked battered and dilapidated. The roof was pointy, like the point on a witch’s hat. The roof sloped at odd angles. So much so that you would look at it and wonder, what would happen if you skied off the roof in the winter? The house had droopy, wooden shutters on the windows that were hung crookedly on purpose. The house was a yellow beige color with odd leadlight

The house had been abandoned in the great depression. When the land around it had become a dust bowl there had been no point in staying or trying to sell. The roof now sagged in the middle and were it not for a hole that let the pooled water escape, it would have caved in long ago. The paint that had been white was not so peeled off that it looked out of place amid the dark of rotting wood. The windows were boarded up by the family who thought they would return one day. it was a fine house in it's day, but for most of it's life it had only sheltered insects and the occasional bird. Even the once glossy stairs were too weak to bare weight. Inside was dank, gloomy, cold. The furniture, untouched in decades, was decaying and frayed. The floor

Now the ramshackle dwelling is a place people say seeps dread. A spot where the sun isn’t quite as bright, the dust oppressive, and the teeming, yellowed weeds that camouflage its former glorious gardens are ragged and

At the edge of the curb stood a run down, miniscule house. The paint was chipping, the ceiling leaked , the ac broke every summer, it was steadily falling apart. Mathias was hit with a potpourri

Two rooms are visible in this photograph, both of which are decaying and devoid of life. The rooms are separated by a decrepit doorway, and this particular doorway has a noticeable crack running along the top of it. The room in which the photographer is not standing shows evident signs of abandonment and is filled with the weathered pages of rotting books and wooden bookcases that have fallen over. There are bookcases along the back wall of the room, and the bookcases’ shelves have books piled on them in disheveled heaps, with some of the books leaning against others. Rusting metal beams protrude from the room’s ceiling, which is composed of splintering wooden panels. The corrosion of the beams and the degradation of the ceiling panels alludes to a lack of maintenance on the room. This portrays a sense of abandonment and the removal of society from this particular building, since the building has been seemingly left to rot, abandoned by its former inhabitants. The disheveled and seemingly haphazard arrangement of the books and pages convey a sense of chaos and disorder, and the yellowness of the books’ pages is indicative of age and decay. It is apparent that these books have not been in use for many years, as the books are misplaced, piled on top of one another in disorganized heaps, and rotting. Likewise, the

It was cold. As I walked up towards the white house, I noticed this because hedges on the driveway were frozen with ice. The visible fog that surrounded the farmhouse let in ghostly light, which hit the world the way a flashlight beam would hit the inside of a darkened room if water were it’s medium. One would say the air was smudged, as it blurred the vision so. The shadows, so blurred and so faded, contrasted well with the off-white sides of the old house. The paint had been peeling for quite some time without repair and created monstrous, long shadows on the wall in this sunrise. My stomach rumbled as I walked; I had forgotten my lunch.

Ivy vines climbed their way up the rotten splintered wooden exterior of the two story building. It sat on a cracked concrete foundation and none of the windows had remained intact. A mouldy aroma was emitted from the old manor. It was clear that nobody had lived in it for the past century. A storm cloud drifted in front of the sun and the boys were suddenly enveloped in darkness. In the distance crashing water could be heard coming from the Potomac river. A bolt of lighting struck behind the property and the booming thunder snapped the boys out of their astonished trance.

The hot beaming sun hitting the lone jackal in the open plain. I’m waiting in the tall, dry grass plotting my next moving; should I pounce, charge in, sneak in, so many options, so little time. The jackal quickly turns his head spotting me. My covers been blown, it’s now or never. I charge in chasing my prey, but out of the corner of my eye I see something shiny. I ignore this object and focus on the kill.

My small footsteps were barely audible over the chatter of the waiting line. I looked up at the tall ‘train station’ that covered the waiting line in faux wood, the stench of sweaty bodies poisoning my nose. The menacing shadow the mountain cast on me blew out the small light of hope I still had for the ride. Only when my little sister crashed into me did I realize the weight of my water bottle digging into my shoulder, and how dry my mouth was. As the cold water slid down my throat, the carts stopped and the people who came off were red-faced and their clothes sticking to their backs. They walked away slowly, as if in shock. Their feet moved in a rhythmic motion as they filed out of the gate. To me, it seemed as if their eyes were rid of life, and only a few looked pleasantly surprised, adding to the dread that haunted me. My heart was pounding in my head and my gut couldn’t stop flashing red lights in

Of all the houses in the neighborhood, hers was the most unkempt. The small garden in front of her house was crippled, with every delicate flower in a dying stage. Pesky weeds sprouting from the dirt were the only source of green in her yard, while most of the windows had small cobwebs invading the corners. However, the most noticeable defect was the yellow house paint, chipping from harsh weather and unforgivable decades. In all, her house looked forsaken.

After yet another dead end, I continued to walk down this carpet of concrete, knowing it would soon mold into a jungle of green. Every door hung by its last hinge, groaning with every gust of wind. Each apartment building had a roof that had either altogether caved in, or looked like a depressing Souffle. All of the

He remarked that the house was abandoned. We peddle until we got there. I got off my bike and I saw a frightening house full of fear. The mood of the house was spooky because everywhere you looked was trash, graffitis, and

Billie and Mac simultaneously looked up at the house in front of them and shivered at the creepy sight. The entire house leaned slightly to the left, all of its windows cloudy and either cracked or broken. The what-used-to-be pearly white paint has chipped away and faded to a smoky, charred gray, its steps leading to a gravel pathway and a trashed covered, neglected lawn.

The walls were heavy, made of thick, rotting wood and thin drywall. The drywall was thin and sodden, dank from being exposed to elements for so long. The putrid wood showed its face at random intervals, shyly appearing to the perceptive viewer. On top of the walls sat peeling plaster, curling up liked they were sour and crisp. The off white color of the walls matched what you could see of the dirty floors, which were covered in debris. This debris