The Guardian

Dan sat in the parked car drinking the last dregs of his Dunkin Donuts coffee. The realtor was already inside waiting for him. With one final sip, he put down the cup and stepped out, pausing to look at the grand old mansion, the home he grew up in but had not seen for more than twenty years.

The agent greeted him as he entered the vast entry way. In spite of it roominess, it felt much smaller than he remembered. Dan sniffed at the air, taking in the familiar aroma. Yes, this was the place alright; this was where his childhood had taken place.

It looked different today with blankets covering everything. Why do they always do that? he wondered. It seemed eerily similar to the way bodies had the sheet pulled up over their head … respect for the dead?

Walking from room to room, he came finally into his father’s study, a forbidden zone for small boys, he had not stepped foot in it until he was in his teens. Dan walked over to pull a small sheet away from its secret. He knew what he would find underneath, the stuffed owl his father had treasured so much. No one knew the story behind it although there were rumors. The only certainty was its name, or perhaps its charge. His dad called it The Guardian.

Smiling at the recollection, Dan walked out onto the back veranda, looking out over the large lawn where he and his brother had played war, years before another war on another continent would claim his older sibling.

Boys grew into men. Arguments over seemingly nothing spanned years of wasted opportunities. Dan knew he would forever regret not saying he was sorry.

“Take it off the market,” were his only words for the agent.

Word count 300