George Fullen


Johnny had squeezed himself tightly into a corner of the back seat of the car. He wanted to feel all alone with his grief. And he was a little angry because he felt SO bad and still could not cry. The old farmhouse looked cold and lonely as they approached it. The trees were barren, and the entire landscape was dirty and grey. No breeze lifted a fallen leaf or stirred a dead weed. There were many cars gathered under the massive old oak tree - more cars than johnny could ever remember seeing there, even for a family dinner. Everything seemed to have changed. The old wooden steps groaned louder; the large country kitchen was colder; and though the house was filled with people, it lacked any of the warmth of a crowd.



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