Authors note: This short story was originally written in Swedish. Swedish is my first language and is the language I feel most comfortable writing with. But I hope the translation turned out ok. ^^
The Swedish version follows the English one, for all who rather read in Swedish.
Thank you Lady Diablo for all your help with the translation and for your opinion on the story!
We stop by a small house just outside a small town. The house, like so many others we have seen on our journey, is red with white trim and has a small porch in front of the main door. The cottage is maybe somewhat smaller than the others we have passed. A pine forest stands behind the house and the whole area breathes calmness. The light from the windows shines invitingly. The snowing has decreased and only very few snowflakes dances in the air. We climbs out of the car, follows a path to the porch, make our way up the few steps and end up in front of a bright green door. A feeling of unrealism washes