Journeys, Mountains, Obsticles

A fresh wave of anger passed through me as the dark damp street glided by me as if in a dream. I wasn't mad at the world or even my best friend Jordan. I was angry at myself for letting this happen to my poor little brother. He'd never deserved any punishment of any kind. I had never been and angry child, never stamped my feet and screamed life was hard and I wished I'd never been born, but strangly enough that's all I wanted to do right now.
As the bright yellow taxi darted through traffic jams and the occastional red light, I was trying despiratly to keep the pain and loss to myself. I was failing. The angry hot tears coursed down my cheek and a small whimper escaped my dry lips. The driver didn't even look back. Finally the cab came to a standstill outside a beautiful victorian manor house standing alone on the edge of a foggy moore.

As I grabbed my backpack out of the stuffy backseat and stumbled awkwardly out of the taxi onto cold gravel the cab driver honked and rounded the corner fading into the gloom. The pathway was rocky and steep as I climbed the driveway up to my house. I stepped onto the large front steps and banged the large iron knockers three times on the grand front doors, elaboratly set with animals, forests, weapons, and monsters. A few taps answered my knocks and a second later my mother opened the door a crack. Her face relaxed a little as she saw me.
"Come on inside Hun, you must be a popcicle!" My mother said, trying and failing to give me a small laugh.
Her face fell and her eyes brimmed with tears , she quickly swiped them away and shut the oak doors behind me.


Meg Douglas
March 17th 2010