preview

Why I Hate My Life Essay

Decent Essays
Open Document

I hate my life. I just made some new friends at this stupid school, and now I have to move again because of my father’s stupid new job. We’re moving to the other side of the country. I just wish we could stay in a town for more than a few months, but no. Every job just gets better and better, so we have to move. I’d been doing some research on the new town we were moving into. I’ll just say that there are some pretty messed up headlines for this place. Most of them about kids going insane, some murders here and there. Nothing shocks me anymore considering some of the places that I’ve been.

When we arrived, I got out of the U-Haul truck, and looked up at the huge mansion-looking house.

“Really? Is a house this big necessary for your ‘needed office space’?” I say in sarcastic tone, looking at the dead grass surrounding this house.

“Jordan, watch your tone!” My mother hisses at me.

“He’s just going through his puberty years.” My dad says, chuckling under his breath.

“Doesn’t matter. He shouldn’t be disrespectful.” My mom says, and I walk into the house carrying my things. I I look around the dark house, and at the peeling wallpaper on the walls. There are still several pictures of the old family that lived here before they left. My parents walk into the house behind me holding some of their stuff, and I look at them questioningly.

“Do you know what happened to the family that was here? Back in 1950-something?” I ask.

“We do, but can we discuss it at dinner? We should get most of our stuff away first.” My father says, and I agree. I walk upstairs, pick a smallish square room, and set my boxes down. I look around the empty room, and put my hands in my hoodie pockets. Along one wall, there are three windows. Two are square, and one is an oval. On the opposite wall, there are two wooden closet doors that look like they could turn to ash at the touch. There is a small bed along the wall next to the closet doors, and a huge wall space. I open the box with my posters of bands, and look up. A boy, who looks to be about 17 or 18, was standing in front of me. He had dark hair, blue eyes, and an ugly stained blue shirt with a black jacket. He wore ripped jeans, and brown muddy boots.

“O-Oh. I didn’t know someone was

Get Access
Related
Get Access