The unspoken mystery

I would take a stroll in the backyard, feeling the evening breeze with hot cup of coffee and evening fritters. My perfect evening. But every perfection has a thorn, thats why we say nothing is perfect. There used to be a wrecked, old and a bit scary building. It seemed to be a decades old school. The wines of the climber plants would reach to the top of the building, the crakes were thick enough to fit my fingers, fungus on the decaying paint would make it more scary, the blooming flowers could not hide the horror. my grandma doesn't open up and tell her secretes. But this time she opens up to a astonishing, unbelievable, scary secret.