2025 08 17

Constraint: Write 300 words, but each sentence must be 10 words long.

The old man by the sea built his own house. He had a vision, he said, for what he needed. Neighbors worried he had gone mad, raving all about the sun.

From the cliffs he carved a grand gear of stone. A single gear the width of the house, rough granite. He cut it from cliffside knocked into the iron-dark sea. Rolled the damn thing through his meadow without a yelp.

And on that gear he built his house of wood. Wood from the glade, cut into walls and gleaming floors. All wood — except for one side, which was only glass.

At first the house faced east for his sunrise eyes. He sat in his chair and watched and fully smiled. Reds and pinks and oranges swelled in his knowing eyes. He loved to watch them fade into the day’s blue.

And when the day’s end drew near, the house turned. He would go out and push at the gear’s teeth. The house creaked under its own weight in its spin. But now the window-wall faced east to see day’s end. Blue returned to pink and red and orange once again. They painted the sheep out in the pasture like canvas.

In the morning he would wake before dawn to turn. The cool air invigorated his old joints with new energy. Blue days and blue nights were surrounded by warm hues. In his old age, this was the man’s whole world.

But with time, rust took not the gear but him. His joints ached and grew arthritic, and morning cold hurt. So he got smart, found an old engine to use. He could wire it up, just push a little button. One button to make the whole house turn, aye then. Some of the village boys helped him this time around.

So there he sat, day after day, his house turning. His eyes were always wide, his skin always sun-warmed then. And in that warmth, he welcomed gentle arrival of age. His passing was quiet — his eyes quietly shut, final rest. He pulled his blanket up to his chest and heart. The warmth was now fully inside him, emanating ever outward. He fell asleep at last with his button pressed fully. He went on to the other side, house still turning. And turning, and turning, and turning, ever towards the sun.