In my senior year of high school I had a wonderful teacher who had my Adv. English class write a lot of essays. I loved it, since I'm such a nerd for writing anything especially when I get a grade. The teacher was wonderful and was always very helpful and gave great constructive criticism. I know that sounds cliche, but it's always nice when someone can be helpful and supportive with anything you love be it writing or painting. It's great to have friends always say that what you do is perfect and amazing but that doesn't always help you become better, this teacher could do both. I thought I would share an essay that I did for her class. It's kinda stupid, but only slightly embarrassingly funny, not for me though.
Anyway, now to the story, which comes with it's own really bad title(please don't judge too harshly)
'I'm rubbish at titles, but here's a tale'
A tent overhead and a blanket as a bed was the most I'd ever had as a bedroom. This never bothered me, I suppose it was how I thought everyone lived. My mother told me when we left I would have a room all to myself, and I could paint it any colour I wanted. I waited three years for that bedroom to come, but i ended up sleeping on the floor of my grandmothers living room with my occupying the couch, this didn't bother me much, either. After five years, with a brief break when we lived on another floor in California, we moved into our own house. one that we would own.
This house always smells of sharp peppermint with a faint hint of animals. The floors creak wherever you stand an the air suffocates you when in silence. The house will leave splinters in your feet if you shuffle, but the fur that clings to your clothes claim you belong there.
In truth, the house was nothing I expected. There are two bathrooms and three bedrooms, the kitchen is large and dirty smelling of peppermint and dish soap. The floor is breaking, and if someone steps too heavy it may break, bringing their leg into the house itself as if claiming that person for its own. My room is the one closet to the front. I claimed the closest bathroom, but soon discovered that the bath didn't work, so I was left with a leaky toilet.
It was just becoming summer, but the air was heavy. I was sitting on my couch looking out the large bay window that the door stands by, watching the birds finding food in the yard. G was talking with my mother, and had been talking to me and didn't notice I had drifted into my own world. An old air-conditioner was squeaking with the effort of cooling the room, but swear still stained everyone's shirt. C then asked if we could sit outside on the two broken riding lawnmowers that had come with the house, and we stared to leave through the backdoor, but was paint flecks fell into our hair, G said she would go to the bathroom first. C and I sat outside, enjoying the cool breeze and looking at the sheet rock falling from the carport ceiling. G poked her head from the door, "Hey, I need your help, I think I just broke your commode!"
I knew after that day, the house was not what I wanted, but I could laugh with my friends an that's what made it worth all the work.
So, I know it's weird to keep using just one letter in place of peoples names, but I don't wanna use fake names or their real names, so just bear with it please. In this story G and C are mentioned a lot, and C was mentioned in the first story as well, but they are two of my oldest and best friends. C is a guy that I've known since the 1st grade, though we didn't see each other again for many years, and G was my first real friend that was a girl. She is still one of my closest friends and we managed to go to college over 1000 miles away from home and I still cherish her so much. The day in this story is one of my favourite days that I can remember, and this is only the very beginning of that day. I really hope you enjoyed it though.
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