CorrespondenceWritingPoetryQuotationsHumor WritingCreative WritingBooksInspirational WritingPersonal EssaysMemoirs & BiographiesNewspapers & MagazinesSerializations

The Windmill: A Short Story

Updated on June 11, 2017
Plexiana profile image

Melissa obtained her B.S. degree in Natural Resource Management, minoring in Biology. She enjoys creative writing, art, and gardening.

Source

In my kitchen I shake out of my day dream about the old creaky windmill across the way. It's my view outside of the kitchen window. The dishes are done, but tomorrow will be another day and with it another dream. Perhaps what I find in the windmill tomorrow will be quite different...

Monday

Before even entering the door of the mill, standing in front of it would leave you awestruck as you gaze up at the height of this tremendous building. It would leave you dizzy and amazed as you watch the wheel turn. Inside it is filled with old treasures, an old John Deere Tractor, benches stacked with magazines from the 50's, a rotary phone, a pitchfork, and many more unique items. An old iron stairwell curves around the inside leading you up to the second floor, here you can access the balcony and get a close up view of that turning wheel. Standing on the balcony, I look out and see my small, insignificant home in the distance, partially obscured by the hillside, but I can clearly see my kitchen window. I walk around the balcony taking in the sights, sounds, and smells of the place, overlooking some of the prettiest farmland in the area. Out to the left, at the edge of the treeline a small cluster of deer graze, and to the right a small stream, which helps to irrigate the farmland. Back in from the balcony you can see all the mechanical workings of the turning wheel, and smell the grease that keeps it running smoothly. Downstairs again, I tinker with the old John Deere before walking back outside into the fresh air. The gardens on either side of the windmill are the first things that I smell.


Tuesday

Today I walk into the old mill and see an art studio. There are paintings everywhere you look. Drop cloths lay upon tables and floors, two or three easels are around the room, paints and brushes are scattered about, and buckets of water and oil are found nearby. One stool sits in the center of the room. I glance at the painting that the artist is currently working on that's displayed on the easel and I am astounded to see my house. I've never seen my house look so beautiful, painted in bright bold colors, in the style of Van Gogh, an impressionist painting stares back at me. I sit at the stool and pick up the paint brush, and I see that the artist forgot the flowers underneath my kitchen window, and I begin to paint. I paint with abandon inspired by my surroundings and finish the painting

Wednesday

Walking into the mill, I am shocked to discover a cozy one room apartment. A wood burning stove sits in the corner, near a small kitchen. The kitchen is adorable with brightly colored fabric hiding the dishes instead of doors, and a teakettle sits on the stove. A small, yet sturdy bed in the opposite corner covered with a colorful quilt that looks handmade. A small round table and two chairs with a bright yellow table cloth and fresh flowers in a vase. The teakettle sings to me, and I cannot help but grab a nearby teacup and pour myself a cup, sitting at the table and smelling the fresh scent of flowers.

Thursday

I walk into the old mill, wondering what today will bring, and I am shocked when I see a library in front of me! Shelves line the walls, filled with books, and a beautiful desk sits in front of a window. I admire the books and the cozy sitting area inside, but find myself drawn to the desk. I sit down and notice a journal on the table in front of me with an old feather and an ink pot nearby. I look out the window and see my house, inspired I pick up the old feather and begin to write. Telling the story of the house across the way.

Friday

I look out the kitchen window one last time before I walk to the door.

"I'm going out," I yell back to the rest of the family. I strode purposefully ahead, knowing just where I want to be.

Comments

    0 of 8192 characters used
    Post Comment

    • Plexiana profile image
      Author

      Melissa 4 months ago from United States

      That is so true! Thank you so much for the comment!

    • mactavers profile image

      mactavers 4 months ago

      Great short story. The mundane always seems to keep us from the things we would like to do. I remember years ago at a retreat, we were asked to list the ten things we liked to do the most. Then, we were asked to make a check mark on how many of those things we had done in the last week, month or even year. The response was pathetic, because we keep putting off what we would really like to do.