fallen house

My family and I were standing outside a very old wooden house. The great timber beams were rotting, bearing only traces of the white paint which once coated the house. My father purposefully pulled at one of the beams, dislodging it from the house, beginning the collapse of our home. We all ran across the road to the other side of the street, warning a passing young boy to keep clear of the falling house, and watched as the house crumbled, beams crashing to the ground and cracking, glass smashing and clouds of dust billowing into the air. I covered my face to protect it from the flying debris. A piece of wood hit my hand. We watched our family home end and felt liberated. Animals that had once resided in the house began to emerge from the ruins. An enormous owl, the biggest I have ever seen, rose out of the rubble and flew away – a huge white fluffy owl with brown wings. Other birds flew up into the air and away. Ghostly shapes and spirits streaked the sky dimly, leaving the site. Suddenly a tennis ball pelted toward me. I caught it with my right hand and looked around to see who had thrown it. An incredibly large dog ran out of the fallen house toward us. I threw the ball and it chased it and brought it back. We each had a go at throwing the ball to the dog – my father, my mother and my sister. The dog, a powerful tawny Bullmastiff, enjoyed the game. I couldn’t see my brother.