I Visited My House After Two Months

My parents hired painters to paint the walls grey to match the pink and grey theme I had going on in the room. My dad bought me a grey bookcase to match the theme of my room because he knew how much I loved reading. I did not ask for a new bookcase, but he said it was a “moving in” gift. The bookcase was quite larger than my old one, with 5 horizontal shelves to store all my books. My room was on the smaller side, but it made me very cozy. As I lit a Lake Sunset candle in my room, I started to unpack some of my boxes. First came all my movie collections that I put under the tv stand, then all my makeup, then my books. As I started to put the books away, ‘The Berenstain Bears' Moving Day’ fell off the stand and to the ground. As I picked up the book, page 12 was open. The page read, “I hated the process of moving. But after the first day of school, everything was fine. I am happy we moved because I have meet new people and have had made new memories.” My mind started to clear up. My mom used to read this book to me every night before I went to bed. I would never have known that this would relate so much to my life now. I started school yesterday and I have already met so many cool people. Everyone was so welcoming and this girl named Rachel even let me sit at her lunch table. I think I was overreacting over the whole situation because it hasn’t been so bad. I am excited for the

I was slowly rolling up the street, sitting in the back of school bus number 741, for what felt like a normal Wednesday afternoon. I looked out the window as we entered my street and I couldn’t believe eyes. Little freshman me had my face pressed up against the bus window, desperately trying to comprehend why there could possibly be so many emergency vehicles in my driveway. The bus came to a stop, I ran to the front, and scrambled down the steps. I got off the bus, stopped, and looked at the 7 house walk I took every day to make it home. This walk I did everyday felt ten times as long and as I got closer and closer my vison started to blur, legs started to crumple, and all

I walked silently, my converse crunching on the wet sidewalk. I zipped up my jacket and took a sip of my coffee. I slowly walked towards my school when someone's shoulder slammed in to me. My coffee flew out of my hands, the lid came of as it hit the ground, spilling all over the sidewalk. I stumbled as I tried to regain my balance. I hate this small town I thought to myself. When I returned home I arrived to both of my parents sitting at the table. I looked at them with a confused look, “Ava why don't you take a seat,” Father said “we have something to tell you.” I took a seat not saying a word just giving them a confused look. “Ava honey your father got a promotion,” Mother stated “and we are going to be moving to California!” Fireworks were going off in my head thinking of all of the new things I would get to experience.

Enchanted by her serene radiance, I did not disturb her. Suddenly she began to speak in a whispered hum that was more like a song, unique in a dwelling full of ranting outbursts. She spoke of years long past, swimming in the pond with her sister and dancing in the moonlight. I could picture all in my head, like I was watching a movie. Then she began repeating the story she had just told me, and I realized that she was merely talking to herself. Although this discovery disenchanted me at first, I soon realized that, although the woman was talking to herself, she still had so many fantastic stories stored in her mind. The residents of the home all had some life flittering in them and numerous stories to share; they just need someone to listen to them. After my experience at the home I knew that one of my goals in life would always be o help make sure that people were receiving proper treatment, and not merely stuffed away and drugged up.

My old bedroom was a place of warmth- most of the time. She was my place of refuge. I would run and jump into her arms when the world did me wrong. We made crafts and shifted through old memories together. Yet, she acted differently when others were around. She took off her frames to reveal a new layer. Her guest were bitter and harsh. They had a fuse shorter than kindergartner’s crayons. I wanted to excused her guest, but it wasn’t my place. I wanted to leave, but she didn’t permit me. I had to let the guest do her critic, then she would leave us

I had just gotten home from school and was standing before my front door starring at it in apprehension of what would most likely greet me on the other side. "Hopefully, today's different," I thought tiredly. Opening the front door I stepped silently inside and quietly closed the door then headed towards my room only to pause at the bottom of the stars as I realized there was no sound coming from upstairs like there usually was. I resumed walking up the stairs thinking to myself "wow, for once they've actually considered that they have a son living with them." At least that's what I thought until, right as I was about to enter my room, loud moans sounded from two different directions. "Or not," I thought in annoyance and slammed my door which did nothing to stop the moans.

We were walking for a few hours. My feet throbbed and my ears were ringing from Taylor’s whining. Finally I could see it, the old abandoned house I discovered one day while riding my bike. The door was barely hanging onto its hinges, and there were several windows missing or broken. I pried open the splintering oak door. In the house there was two rooms. One, the one you first enter, was most likely a kitchen and living room. There was a sofa with faded fabric and springs popping out everywhere. An old furnace sat in the corner with rotting charcoal inside. The door of the furnace was missing rendering the whole thing useless. The other room was much smaller. It was a bedroom. There was a twin sized bed. The frame was rusty and missing a leg. I pulled the mattress off of it, so we could sleep on it. There were springs and stuffing sticking out of the mattress. It wasn’t too dirty to sleep on because I pulled off the moldy sheets. We laid down on the mattress. Taylor started snoring within minutes. I was worried about Mom. She had had a seizure before. It was because of her failing liver. Last time, social services took me and my sisters to a girl’s home. They served cooked vegetables that smelled like rotten seafood and chicken noodle soup with frozen chicken. After Mom got out of the hospital she got custody of us, but the judge told her if it happened again she wouldn’t get us back. My older sister, Becca, was eighteen so she didn’t have to

I heard a feminine voice call out to me as I blazed out the front door. "Good morning Amber! Oh, where are you--" I cut her off with a sharp slam. I couldn't look back. With each step towards my car, I inhale painful sobs of air. I feel as if I don't know who I am, as if I was that 18 year old girl hearing the news of his death for the first time. I couldn't think of the name that belongs to me, or any one else but my father. Any face my subconscious offers had the resonance of a total stranger, then was replaced with the haunting image of

I didn’t leave him a tip and headed into my dump of a house. I half-expected to see everything covered in years of dust and my goldfish floating corpses, but the house was exactly as I’d left it this morning. I headed straight for the drawer with the hidden back and reached for my stash. As soon as my fingers touched the plastic, a wave of nausea swept over me. I tried again and found myself lurching to the sink to puke. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand before laughing uncontrollably and without humour. They’d really done it. I was still me, but they were in my head, too, and I hated them for

I ran across the street and almost got hit by a two bicyclist, I pick up the newspaper lying on the bench dated May 18, 2007. As I flip through the paper I see the obituary of my mother, I knew this wasn’t just a coincidence, this was my chance. I sat down on the same section of the sidewalk I sat before, although now it has many cracks. I repeated under my breath “May 16 2007” several times until finally I was placed on the same street corner again. I’m almost too positive it's the right date so I run down the street and take a left then I take two rights until I approach my driveway. As i’m just about to open the backdoor with the key that’s kept in the seat cushion near the door I realize my parents don’t know me, and I can't just walk in. I head behind the garage to strategize, I came up with the plan that i'll knock on the door and talk to them about a lost dog for a while, hoping to push back their schedule enough to prevent my mom from the

Silence. It was too quiet for a Manhattan neighborhood. My eyes slowly opened, welcoming sunlight in, as I looked around my room, I strained my ears to catch for any sounds. I decided to get up and figure out why our usually bustling neighborhood went from noisy to quiet. Walking down the stairs, I was welcomed to a totally destroyed living area, all my furniture against the door, all my windows boarded up with multiple nails pierced into the board. Creeping towards my kitchen, all my belonging looked as though it had not been touched. Opening the oak cabinets, I noticed all my food was in place, including my box of chocolate granola bars, with four left. Grabbing one, I leaned against the counter, my eyes glancing towards the daily newspaper crumpled on the floor. Bending down

Each disruption I was unable to ignore, resulting in my leapfrogging from spot to spot. Whether it was a party with hamburgers, people doing Slackline, or people cuddling and kissing, I would leave. Fed up with the consistent commotion around me, I left, Searching for a sense of serenity, I sprinted back to my house, eager to escape the turmoil infecting my leisure hour. As I opened the familiar wooden door, I heard a door slam and expletives flowing out of my brothers mouth. I thought that I had finally found the calmness I had been seeking. I was wrong. I went back outside, sat on the worn out and sun bleached bench on my patio and

You scared me!" I said I lowered my shotgun to my side; a 'Meow' came from the big, brown, hairy cat. I placed my shotgun on the kitchen table then walked over to the alarm panel and punch in the code which silenced it. I re-entered the code to arm my small apartment. My phone rang a minute later, I knew it would be the alarm company, I told them it was my cat and no need to call the police, after a few minutes of confirming some information I hung up. I grabbed a broom from the small cleaning closet and started to sweep up the broken vase on the floor, until I heard a creak outside from my apartment door. My head popped up, I placed my broom gently against a wall and stepped towards the front door. I peered out the peep hole and to my relief saw my neighbors walking down the hall. I returned to clean up the small mess; after I did I chose to start my day. I went over to the coffee maker and started the coffee. As the coffee was making I went off to my bathroom and took a shower, I listened to some music to help me get my day going. I stepped out of my bedroom half an hour later, dressed with my hair wrapped in a towel. I poured myself a cup of coffee and popped myself a pop tart and watched channel 4 local

Occasionally, I walk home from school. It was a simply walk until I started walking in my neighborhood. I try not to listen to the cars passing me, I try not to listen to the people leaving their homes, I try not to listen to the bird sounds, I try not to listen to the extremely loud criping every time I walk past a tree. As I walk, I like to think about what my mom has cook for my siblings and I. My mom doesn’t tell us what she makes until after she is done and it is a surprise whenever I get home. Since I was walking, I was anxious to get home.

The rusty, metal gate is broken and falling apart. I open the gate to let myself in as the wind blows by gently. The earthy and dead smells, like a cemetery are very unpleasant for me, but I can’t give up now. I need to know what happened to my family before they died. I know it wasn’t a suicide like the police said. I lost my family when I was nine; my dad, my mom and both of my grandparents. I’ve stayed at my aunt’s house ever since. And there’s never a day that I don’t miss them. As I slowly walk toward the house, I can tell how humid the air is, by my sticky skin is rubbing against each other. I’m blinded by the fog around the house as I step closer and closer. The place is silent, so silent that I could hear my own heart beating; fast