For sale

En uno de los blogs que sigo, "The one minute writer", tiraron un post muy lindo que daba una idea para empezar un mini escrito. Tienen un concurso cada viernes de escribir una mini ficción, y esta vez participé =) El link para el blog es este: http://oneminutewriter.blogspot.com.ar/

Esto es lo que decía el blog, y abajo, dejo la pequeña ficción que inspiró =) 

"You're walking home from the train station one day and suddenly come upon a beautiful old home tucked away between the other buildings. Funny, you've never noticed a house there before. Then you notice the FOR SALE sign. Hey - you've been looking for a place closer to work anyway. You decide to buy the mysterious house. What happens? What's inside? Where did it come from?"

I was waiting for the real estate guy, and he came, very nervous. At first I thought that he was nervous about the house. Maybe nobody wanted to buy it, so he was nervous I shouldn’t want to buy it either; maybe he didn’t like the neighborhood… I thought it a very nice place, very safe… But, no, something else was troubling him, and I was soon to learn what.

We entered the house and I got to see it was no long uninhabited, because there was not much dust to be seen, the house looked quite clean. Everything I saw I liked, so coming to a deal on everything was easy. I enquired upon the history of the house, but the salesman only told me it had belonged to an old lady who had just passed away and had left it as an inheritance to her grandchildren, who were selling it to divide the money. I asked if it was not unsentimental to do that, given that probably those grandchildren had lived and enjoyed very good moments. The salesman shrugged and started for the door, telling me that a week from then all the paperwork would be done, and I could go and pick up the keys.

I stopped him there, and said that obviously something was wrong, and I was not leaving until he told me what it was that I had to know about my new home. He sighed, sat down on the tiled floor, and commenced a little narration.

He told me he had lived, as a child, on this street, exactly in front of the house I had just bought. This man, who looked not older than thirty years old, said that he would always look through his windows to this house, the nicest of the block those days, and see a little girl, of about his age. He described the girl as if she were an angel, and said she had been his playmate back then. Her name was Sarah. Before sighing and falling into silence, he said he had never seen her since.

Evidently, my salesman still had feelings, deep feelings, for this girl Sarah. I asked about the reason for this, for her having disappeared, but he didn’t know it. He only knew that once, when they were ten, she had kissed his cheek after a day of playing in her park, and the next day she came (for she came once or twice a week to this, her grandma’s house) she didn’t come out to play whit him, and never again had he seen her, until…

One month ago, a man about five or six years older than him came to his office offering to buy this house, and telling him the same story he had told me about the grandchildren wanting to sell it. When this man signed, he saw he had the same surname as Sarah had…

My salesman couldn’t continue, his eyes filling with tears, so I told him we would come to the end of the question and find this angel-playmate of his again.