Original- The wind softly blew, just a puff of breath. But it was a breath, it was alive, unlike the ruins over which it looked. The walls were crumbled and decayed, nearly churned to dust on the ground; the largest structure remaining was an archway where a door once stood. The trees all around the ruins were slumped and hunched, their long delicate fingers bent toward the ground in a perpetual state of mourning. Because in all honesty, this was a funeral. A funeral that had been going on for decades, as the coffin—the house—was slowly lowered into the ground; and the wind was its family, leaving it one last kiss as it departed from the world of the living.

Six word- Ruins crumble in a gentle wind.