Bridlewood Drive: A Short Story

I saw my father, young and determined, working at the crack of dawn in the brickyard, while my mother stayed home to childproof their small apartment. Using the potent mixture of caffeine and chemicals contained in Mountain Dew, he was able to resist the urge to doze off during his daily classes. I saw myself running around the large oak tree that dwarfed our first house, and couldn’t help but smile as I thought about my mom, pregnant with my sister, walking me to the library to play with the puppets and pick up books about my favorite dinosaurs. I saw the terrifying night that the oak tree was stuck by lightning, and heard my mothers voice over the phone at school, eagerly telling me about my new baby brother. My stream of consciousness was broken as we entered the scorching area where they bake the bricks, but I quickly zoned out again as my grandpa began to explain the technical aspects of brickmaking. This time, the memories took place in a new house, as our cozy home had turned claustrophobic with the addition of a fifth member. Quiet walks to the library were replaced with chaotic days at the pool. The cards began to pick up speed, as I got deeper into my life. The dark years of middle school, when my hair covered my eyes and I

The parents came out of Grandma’s room by one by one, bags under their eyes, makeup running down their face, and bright red noses. By that time, I could almost predict what happened. As my mom and dad approached us with their heads down, I prepared myself to hear exactly what I never wanted to hear. “The doctors are turning off the life support machine. She isn’t suffering anymore, and she will be looking over every one of you guys. She said she loves you all so much,” Mom told us while my dad didn’t hide his tears back.

Arm Wrestling with My Father Change is inevitable, and often leads to emotional repercussions. Brad Manning expresses this idea in his coming-to-age essay “Arm Wrestling with My Father,” in which he traces the evolution of his relationship with his father. Using rhetorical devices such as repetition, selection of detail and analogy, Manning further proves his ambivalence towards his and his father’s impending roles reversals. Manning begins the essay by describing a regular arm wrestling match with his father, and uses repetition while describing the match “…is what he always said…he would always control the outcome… Dad would always win; I always had to lose” (156).

This day came one rainy November day when I was in 9th grade. I was in high school. My world had turned upside down by change and

While we sat in our rambling tan and yellow cabin among the trees at 416 Spencer Falls Lane at Big Bear Lake, we watched the gloomy rain fall all morning long. Finally, the storm passed and the dark gray clouds passed over, the sun shone brightly on the wet grass. Yes, the day soon was as pleasant as any other august day, of course we knew it was frequently the case with a warm summer rain. This time, however, the rain had swelled the river washed away our small wooded bridge. Elaine my youngest sister sat beside the washed out bridge, she was so unhappy because it was loss. It was then that a shiny blue convertible drove up beside her, the four of us, our names are: William, Martina, Ella and David, watched as the car approached, it was around

An older boy remembered his father, a hardworking blue collar man. He remembered how his father would walk into the home each evening with scraped hands and perspiration stained shirts. His father was a tough man. He was the kind of man that refused to go to the doctor and rarely hugged his children. Yet, he was a good man. The boy remembered how his father provided for the family and often times his smallest actions proved his paternal love for them. One particular memory stood out among the rest. His father had returned home from work late one evening. He had been out celebrating his pay raise with some of his co-workers down at the local pub. He waltzed through the door bursting with

On a Saturday morning, James brown was reading his favorite book as usual, the bird in front of his house squeezing. He read on every saturday and sunday to get some relief from work and all the stress that built up over time. He was really into reading his book, but after a while of reading, James stand next to the window and listen to the rain pouring into the small pound. The rain was getting stronger and stronger as Mrs.Brown got a little scare. She was screaming very loud, the wind blow harder, hat on the resident of Kansas City blow off as if someone smack it off there head. Mrs. Brown was crying because it was rain really hard and there was lighting. James went to his wife and comfort her by humming.

“Mama, cover doors and windows. Everyone go to the bedroom, and put your masks on,” I directed, calmly. When I got to the bedroom, everyone was huddled around each other, with a white cloth on their face. Suddenly, the room became dark. You could hear the heavy breathing of everyone in the room, yet you couldn’t see anyone. The storm felt like it lasted for days, but only really lasted a few minutes. When I got back to the dining room table, I saw a letter on the table from the bank.

The sun was kissing the horizon; the day was just beginning, and the sweet sounds of the birds morning sound had awakened me. I was sitting in the same spot I do day after day, happy and well rested. I awoke from my peaceful slumber with a large, clanging chime that echoed off the walls and the roof. The sounds of footsteps stomped down the stairs, and there, as always, was Todd. And as he always does, he shuffled his way to the kitchen and turned on the coffee. Finally, as the aroma of burnt coffee grounds filled the air, a new day had begun.

“It started on a rainy, cold,dreary day. The sky was grey and the rain sounds were like waves crashing ashore.” I had remembered clearly.

The day after was the beginning of many events that my dad planned out for us to do for the next week.We went to Yankee Stadium, Times Square, and many other places.I was having some of the best experiences of life,that was until my mom and sister arrived at our apartment only to find the door lock broken from it being forced open and a ton of valuables stolen from each

A deep voice broke my angry thoughts for a second “So this is where you have been my little princess…” his eyes stared through me as he spoke “Yes grandfather… why are you here?” I spoke through my teeth trying to keep calm. His eyes finally focused on me when I asked that question “It hurts me you ask such a questions. I came to check on my lovely granddaughter…” his voice faked sincerity.

In Alabama, in the country, next to a dirt road and a muddy lake that was full of green water, where you couldn’t go to sleep because the frogs croaked too loud, there was a large house. The large house was made of splintery wood, and was inhabited by only one person. Now, the lake that his house was built on had been where a boy named Ronald Pratt had been ran over after removing the bricks from in front of the wheels of a flaming portable, saving the lives of many kids after the portable rolled into the lake and the fire was extinguished. One day, the man who owned the house was in his bed at 8:30 pm and he heard a whisper. He couldn’t make out any words, but he heard it all right. He pulled out a flashlight and grabbed his rifle to go and

The temperature was falling fast. It’s windy. There was snow in the rain that was splatting against the windows of the houses. The roads were as empty as those on Sunday mornings. Jacquen was going home in a car along with his parents. his father was driving the car very recklessly for the weather was getting worse and he had to catch a flight to Los Angeles the next morning. suddenly his father saw a wagon approaching them like a monstrous beast . His father slammed on the brake to avoid crashing into the wagon but the road was slippery. a sudden panic rushed into the car. they were blinded by the headlight from the wagon and the car continued to slip and finally barged into the

I watched Emily run through the rain like it was the best thing that ever happened to her. She loved it. I however did not. Coming to get me I guessed as I heard her bound up the stairs. ¨I know you hate the rain hollie but you should come out.” She said. I was nine at the time and afraid of a lot of things. ¨No! I don't like the rain and I never will.” She then proceeded to pull me over her shoulders and carry me outside into the storm. Within a minute my flaming red curly hair was dark maroon wet and straight. ¨How do you know you won't like it if you won't even step of the steps when it does.¨ I cautiously stepped of the stem into the dirt at the bottom of the stone steps and felt the mud squish between my toes. It felt funny but I like it. I smelt the rain and looked around at the wet grass with the water on it. It was alluring. But before I could touch it I felt coldness all around me and looked up to see my sister with a bucket. We played outside for what felt like hours till Father came to get us. Then I loved the rain and every storm no matter what time it was my sister and I would go outside and play in the