19 November 2008, 8:55 pm
This is a story that I am writing, obviously. It's about a girl who goes to live on a horse farm in Minnesota after being sent to foster home numerous times.. I am simply seeking honest opinions, suggestions, on this. I will use the responses as references, so please think about this before you respond. Don't just say it was bad, explain why it was bad and so forth. Thank you! =) The snowflakes fell in flurries, each one of them seeming fall in a collective pile of white dust. Every powdery flake seemed to call my long, dark eyelashes home, coating them thickly in the white snow that seemed to fall from the heavens. It was odd how they stuck to me like that, especially with the icy wind that whipped painfully at my pale face. The thin jacket that wrapped protectively around me served of no purpose; I still felt every gust and shivered violently in response to each one. My eyes gazed down upon the blanket of white beneath my feet as I began to ponder exactly what I was planning to do. Was this the right path for me? I've walked so many of those wretched dirt paths for more, my judgment was muddied. The thought of being sent to yet another foster home brought nothing but sadness to my heart. It would be just another story of heartbreak and betrayal to add to the memoirs known as my life. Of course, my life hadn't always been like this. My parents and my little sister died a little over two years ago in a fatal car crash. I can remember every detail of that day. Every little detail. The checkered napkins in the picnic basket, our family baseball game at the park, us laughing in the car, the flash of red and white, a scream… I quickly shook my head, desperately seeking to rid my mind of thoughts from my past. The horrible past. I gazed up at the sky, my tears nearly frozen on my cheeks. I quickly brushed them away and took a deep breath and picked up my bags. I started down the long driveway to get to the Cole’s house. I curled my toes hoping to warm them as I walked. I started down at my once white tennis shoes. There were holes in them and the soles were nearly worn out. I scoffed to myself as another terrible memory overtook me. The Baker’s had given me the now falling to pieces tennis shoes. They had been the family that I had lived with before this one. They had said that they were going to adopt me. I didn’t want to be adopted. So I had left. I had run away. It's not completed of course. It's just a draft. Thought that I would clairify that. Anyone? =/ ?!?! Anytime now. ?!?! Anytime now. By the way, this is written by a thirteen year old (me). In case that changes anyone's perspective.... Read More »
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