missmelon
She gave the gate a little tug, but it refused to budge. A quick glance over the area showed that there was no other way inside. Still, the pad lock had no intention of shirking its duties for her sake. She sighed and peered through the gaps in the chain link fence at the place that she'd spent her entire childhood. The playgroud was old and rusty by now, but she still wished that she could go in once more, for old time's sake.
To remember.
He flew through the house, tearing books off of his meticulously-organized shelves as he did so. Not a week ago, this would have been the stuff of nightmares for him. Regardless, he didn't care- that was nothing compared to this. He rushed into the master bedroom, where he'd spent hours reading from the many volumes lining the walls. He brushed past each shelve in the room, finding nothing. Then he spotted the corner of a leather-bound book peeking from beneath the nightstand. Picking it up delicately, he opened the cover, handling each page as though it was made of glass. He looked through all of the flowers his daughter had pressed for him, and rubbed his thumb over the words "Happy Father's Day" carefully written on the first page. It was the most beautiful gift he had ever recieved.
And now, she would never be able to press a flower again. He cried.