#129

there was an old one-room schoolhous, a "piece of history right in front of our eyes!" as her dad exclaimed, and the stairs out front were concrete to replace the rickety wood. peeling red paint stuck out and up and down and she wondered who had painted it and if it occurred to them that red made for a highly cliche "historical" schoolhouse.
the water pump out back still worked and she stuck a bare foot under the cool, chugging water and looked at the surrounding woods. the trees were low, many young, maybe fifty years old, one hundred. she wondered if any history was still real, if this was real now, and how rugged and exotic her life might appear to someone 200 years from now, feeling water on their feet and looked at a cracked, red-paint-chipped building.