The Wrecking Ball

I didn't want to break into the house. As a high school kid, I hadn't really known any better-well, at least that's how we rationalized it. Now, I felt that I needed someone to back me up. I needed help.

So, I called back the powers that be in town and told them I could prove that the place had historic value, and that it should be saved. I was told that it had been sold and there was already a demolition permit. But, if I could give them enough proof, they might be able to stop it, if the house hadn't already been torn down.

I jumped in my car and sped down to the old house, parking crooked beside the lawn. I noticed the demolition people wandering around as I raced into the house. Fortunately, the door was open. I knew exactly where the fireplace was that he was talking about. It was where we had placed our pop cans when we visited during those high school days. How strange to think that we were so close to history without even realizing it.

My hands were shaking as I fumbled around, fingering the cracks and broken areas of the fireplace. I found a little metal army figure, and knew I was in the right place. There were a few crackly pieces of paper in there, and then I could feel the crease of an envelope.

I didn't even dare try to find the time to read them.

I just hurried out, noticing the members of the demolition crew staring at me.