time to write some sad shit

She found out that someone had finally bought her grandma's old home the other day.

Far be it from Zorana to take a vacation from her morgue, her interns or those people out west that she had come to think of as family, no matter what they were. But this was important enough to warrant the two-day drive eastward through abysmally long corn fields and the sea of barns to return to her home. It had been a long time since she had been inside, and since her grandma had moved full time to the Serbian Monastery on the highway just outside of the little town. They had, for so long, struggled to keep that house in the family.

She had basically grown up there. Somewhere still in one of the closets were her old toys from when sheand her twin sister were no more than three years old. No one had ever cleaned it out. Least she could do was take some mementos off the new owners' hands. Maybe someday she would be able to hand them down.

Not much had changed along the stretch of road that led to the house. Old, wizened oak, maple and pine trees lined every road and sat in every back yard, rustling gently in the afternoon breeze. She had heard about the recent tornado, and it did become apparent when she passed the park along the way just what the damage had been. She remembered that playground. She remembered going to talk with her sister on it, the night before she made the big move. Now, like dust in the wind, it was gone. Destroyed. A tree had fallen on it in the wake of the storm.

It was too early yet to check in with Valeriya, or her grandma. The sun was still up, which would cause them nothing but trouble. It made her a bit sad, not to be able to see them right away. She missed them. But her grandmother had a lot of responsibilities out here, and her sister didn't want to go.

It couldn't be helped, she supposed.

The sun was just beginning to set when the beaten-up orchid colored pickup truck pulled into the gravel driveway just behind a shiny SUV. Through the back window, she could see some building supplies inside, and she could feel her stomach drop. To the left, next to the little rope border to the small park separating the house from its neighbor, she saw that the new owners were already in the middle of building a large privacy fence.

A knock on the door summoned a young man, very sportily dressed, in glasses to answer it. “Hello?”

“Yes, hello..? I'm the granddaughter of the former owner of the house...” Zorana started off, her voice low, even a little sad. “I know you don't know me, but.. my twin sister should have been the one who closed on the house with you, yes? Valeriya Smith, is her name...”

“Oh! Yes, the lawyer across the way! Bit of an odd one, y'know? Only makes arrangements at night. You'd almost think she's a vampire.”

“Heh heh, yeah...” Zorana looked away a little. “Anyway, I was hoping.. that maybe you'd let me come inside for a while... I moved out west before the sale was even considered, and I never got to see it before it sold..”

“Well come on inside! Hope you don't mind that we've made a few changes to the place.”

“No, no, of course not.” She lied. She minded strongly, but it wasn't her place to judge anymore. She stepped inside the house and felt her stomach drop from her heart to the floor.

That fireplace that she spent so many nights curled up in front of was bricked over, and the ugly mauve carpet that she never admitted that she loved was gone, replaced with hardwood floors like some upper class city-folk would like.  The shelves where her grandma had kept all her collectibles were gone and replaced with generic white-bread paintings. The furniture was no longer old-person friendliness, but the cold, sharp edges of some stupid well-to-do graphic designer.

“It wasn't easy,” The man who invited her in started off, “but a little love and patience and I think she'll be ready to flip. I'm sure someone's gonna love it, aren't you?”

“Y-yeah...” It was taking all her being not to maul him for disrespecting this house like he had. A house-flipper. Of course it had to be a house-flipper. “It looks nice...”

“Are you okay?”

“Fine! I'm fine.”

“Alright, if you're sure. Anyway, come check out what we've done to the kitchen...”

She wasn't sure. She wanted to turn back time and make sure she never let this man buy this sacred place. This was her childhood. Except... it wasn't anymore...

Admittedly, there wasn't too much you could do to a kitchen beyond replace the appliances, something that had been needed. But she still didn't like it. It was too different.

“Excuse me, sir... as far as I'm aware, this house was left intact, with most of the belongings still in place... what happened to them?”

“Oh, the family came to clean out the collectibles. The furniture was antique, so we sold it to get the funds for the project. Someone left an old bin of toys in a closet upstairs, too, can you believe it?”

“...What happened to them?”

“We cleaned them up and donated them to charity. The less well-off families are gonna get more use out of them than me and my partner will.”

“I see...”

“Oh, would you care to see what we've done with the upstairs?”

“No... no thank you, sir. I think I've seen enough...” It was hard not to choke up. “I hope whoever gets this house enjoys it. You've done a nice job. I actually think I'm late for an appointment I had out here while I'm still in town, I had better see to it. Thank you for your time.”

She nearly ran out of the house, and got back into her truck. He had no idea the kind of history that house had. He wanted to turn it into a hipster's paradise. As she pulled out, she couldn't help but peer around to what she could see of the back yard. Her grandfather's old rowboat was gone from the stump of the willow tree that used to hang out over the lake, and it was replaced with a dock. She didn't understand what use they would even have for a dock. The shed was gone, and with it, her uncle's collection of fishing poles and the bug-catching stuff that she had cherished during those summers back then.

It was all gone.

She drove up the street adjacent, and eventually pulled to a stop in front of a small white house with the thick curtains in the front picture window shut tightly. It was still too early to knock on the door, so she rested her head against the steering wheel and finally allowed herself to cry.

Maybe she shouldn't have come home.