Gemotions

The old house stood, a testament to time and the lives lived within its walls. Across the street, a young boy, no older than ten, sat on his bicycle. He was carefully sketching the house in his notebook. He'd been coming here every day for the past week.

His grandmother had told him stories about this place. She had fond memories of the house. He'd decided he'd capture the building in art. The sun was setting, casting long shadows.

He'd been drawing for hours, his brow furrowed in concentration. When he was done, he smiled. He knew what he was going to do. He closed his sketchbook and went home. The house would live on.