write a story on the abandoned house. It should be attractive and it should have 5 paragraphs starting, 3 body, and the last one conclusion.” Answer quick
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Answer:
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Explanation:
I looked nostalgically at the old abandoned house that was standing there gloomily. The house used to be alive and cheerful but it was now forgotten and had an air of melancholy. Cobwebs littered the house, with the wooden roof and walls falling in. Sunlight no longer danced through the windows and sounds of laughter were no longer heard; all that was left was the remains of a long since dead house. The lights stared downwards miserably at a table that would never serve anyone ever again, with chairs that had not been warm in many years. Dust blew past the dark hallways, a sad reminder that this house would never be whole again.
The house was not always dead. I can forlornly recall all of my visits to this once beautiful house. Every summer holiday, my parents had brought me to this house, my grandparents’ house. I had lived in the city, so the experience of living in a rural area was very different and yet it was so much fun. The bright sunshine, the gentle wind and the quietness that had been introduced to me in that wonderful house had all come to be things that I loved. After the first visit, I was always enthusiastically waiting to visit what had become my second home.
I remember being so eager to help out, trying to help in any way I could, like attempting to help paint the house with grandpa, handing the right bolts and nails for fixing the fence or collecting the eggs from the hens with grandma. I had almost always messed up everything I tried to do but my grandparents had kindly taught me again how to do it properly. The house that my grandparents once lived in had so many good memories of my fun and carefree childhood that I knew that I would have to visit it again one day. After waiting patiently for ten years, I had went to the address that I used to happily go to every year. At first, I thought I had gone to the wrong house and yet, after going back and forth, I had come to the horrible realisation that the destroyed, abandoned house I was looking at was the right house. I could not believe my eyes as I mentally recounted how the now ruined house used to be when I was but a young child.
The house was always bright and had young, hyperactive children (including me) running around, playing tag. The house was extensively cared for as my obsessive compulsive grandmother and my effervescent grandfather treated like an additional child. Flowers of all colours filled the elegant garden, brightening the entire area. In that one simple house, birthdays had been celebrated, laughs were shared and fireworks were watched. The house was the epitome of liveliness and yet it was now dead. It was now merely a shadow of its former glory, for the house was no longer alive, and never would be again.
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