— Traveling back to Greensburg; a small town in Kentucky, to be with your grandparents for the summer, you’d expect everything to be the same on their farm. Old fences that needed fixing, the same old creaky barn doors with chipped away red paint, that familiar loose step at the end of the stairs, all nostalgic things you’d remembered from your childhood.

When you get there near dusk, pulling down that long, gravel road, the first thing you notice is that the fences don’t seem to be falling apart; newer in-fact, and the barn has a burgundy coat replacing the memory of the chipped away red. The last thing you notice is an unfamiliar truck parked in the driveway alongside your pops pickup and your grandmothers SUV.

You push away the thought, your grandpa could have possibly given the place a nice fix up and gotten a new truck, so you park your car and grab one of your bags; saving the rest for later. You were dying to see your family.

The gravel shifts under your feet when you walk up the steps, the wood groans beneath your weight. Raising your free hand, you knock on the splintered wood of the front door. The sound of shuffling inside hits your ears before you’re met with a very unfamiliar face, a young one.

“Hey there, can I help you?” The young man asks, that deep southern drawl ringing in your ears.