The House on Highway 17
Two members of the resistance stood before the remains of a large house. They had just traveled a long way today and were looking for shelter when they came upon the building. Highway 17 was not a friendly place to travel because of Combine forces and the ant lions, but the house seemed relatively safe. It had obviously once been a beautiful house judging by its size and spacious rooms. In previous years the house had stood along the shore of a beautiful shoreline. The family who owned it obviously had been very fortunate to own such a house, until the Combine arrived. Now instead of an ocean view, the house sat on a barren ridge over looking the dead water's edge, barely resembling the ocean that it once was.
Outside seagulls drifted over the dead waters searching for meager amounts of food and their low cries broke the silence sounding as if the world itself was mourning for what it had lost. Very few animals survived the invasion and those that did barely hung on in their struggle to survive. Leeches now infested the waters making even the gulls' existence in question after having consumed all of the fish and invertebrates. The world was dying and the animals along with it.
Inside the house very little remained of the family's belongings with the exception of a few large pieces of furniture and the stove. The bare walls echoed the past and if one listened closely, the laughter of children could almost be heard inside the rooms as a reminder of much happier days. These were gone now and the house's former residents now forgotten. Other reminders remained in the house as well, a handmade rug now tracked with mud, a well-worn sofa once used to relax on, and a shoe. Only traveling members of the resistance used the house, although they were very few these days. They would not move the items or touch them, almost out of reverence because of what they stood for.
The two resistance members paused and reflected on the house and what it once was. Looking beyond the chipped paint and the boarded up windows, they could image a beautifully painted white house with a bright green lawn where children played outside on the tire swing. A dog chasing the swing making them laugh hysterically as children do. Inside the house their parents could be seen going about their daily lives and relaxing in front of the fireplace. It was almost heaven; actually it was heaven to the resistance members who barely remembered such memories since the Combine arrived when they were small children themselves.
They rested that night on the sofa and were able to sleep peacefully dreaming of the house's former days. When morning came, they set off again into their dying world and were forced to say good night to their dreams as they left.