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The one place that left an everlasting impression upon me was created by me, built by me, used by me, and finally destroyed by me. The locale of which I write is the once existing treehouse in my backyard.
When I was eleven, I thought I could build my own fortress. I figured out the amount of supplies and location of the treehouse that my friends and I would need. Well, I was completely wrong about the tools and wood, and about the place for it because it turned out the original tree we began to build in was infested with termites.
The three of us found the wood and nails throughout the neighborhood. The cost was very little in terms of money but cost a fortune in blood, sweat, and hit thumbs. It took about two months to complete, the phoenix of trash, once wood from buildings and now rebuilt into a dream. It was ever changing for the first two years of its life.
After its first month, it was attacked and vandalized by an unknown assailent and the "club" had lost all of its safety. We had found an enemy among the trees. Instead of safety it left an overwhelming sense of rightousness in me. It became a symbol of good in a place of evil.
After awhile of going back there every day, the time I spent there decreased steadily and it took to age. I found less and less use for it and by fate or an order from my parents, a lumberjack dropped a tree on it. The woods engulfed what was left of the extinguished phoenix.