The little parlor on the ground floor of a two-story house had its windows tainted in black paint just like in the other rooms, and walls colored in the same gloomy image of emptiness, which gave them a sinister like appearance. It was evident from the state the room was in that no one has lived in this lost world for quite a long time. This neglected old place had belonged to my family for some generations, and I did not come here today to break the cycle of abandonment that my family has kept on for so long. It made me sad to see this piece of history, however modern, go to waste and one day turned to dust. The walls would have nothing to hide but their decay and will have nothing to protect behind its ancient stones. The dilapidated building had lived its prime, and the end was not too far from the corner.
I sometimes wonder if these walls could talk, what would they say, and if they should tell me to leave them alone and go away. I imagined everything here had a life of its own, and if it is my destiny to see it end, I do not know.
In the days that followed, that ghost house was cleared up from its very foundation, and there began to rise new walls. Higher, mightier, and colorful. They were painted blue, just like the ocean, and green like the freshly cut grass. I passed by the grounds where once those bleak tainted windows denied me a view of the world outside and saw a kid through those new polished glasses. She was on her knees, drawing on the walls of her home with multicolored crayons, and her innocent face glowed under the sunlight. A tiny prism set on a table beside her reflected rainbows on the other wall.
The spectacle filled my heart with delight, and I drove past those windows one last time.