Down behind a quiet and peaceful neighbourhood lay a forest filled with weighed down and snapped branches. Up there was a soaring treehouse that looked like a watchtower. A face with a tiny little smile peeked out of the colossal house. The eyes scanned across the beaches and peninsula.  The house’s floor had wooden planks that were stuck together like glue. Years passed and the sturdy ancient wooden planks grew sticky grey mould. At the same time a boy flicked across the photos of an album and saw the photos of an unstable treehouse, like the one that was once being built next door.

By Truson Y Room4

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