Yesterday, Today, Tomorrow (Serena)
Sept 11, 2012 20:36:26 GMT -5
Post by gopokes612 on Sept 11, 2012 20:36:26 GMT -5
Body
Speaking
Heard
I could get used to this whole fall thing. I think that every year. Literally every year when fall rolls around, I find myself thinking this same thing. Another reaping down, another year to work my tail off for the next one. I’m sixteen now which means I can hold a part time job to help support my family, but I doubt I will do that. I will probably keep doing what I have been. I will keep going with my career training, and continue trying to be the best influence I can on my siblings. But right now that is all far from me. The only thing that matters right now is the ground beneath my feet, and the beach that waits at the end of my run. It’s around midday and the heat that remains let’s me know that summer has not quite ended. Sweat rolls down face and back as I turn down the street. The aqua blue surf emerges on the horizon as I continue over the cap of a hill, down into the area where I live. The houses are larger here, and the people snootier. My house is the most run down of all of them, but it is still home. My brothers and sisters are all gone for the day. My oldest sister has taken them away, so when I finish my run by climbing the stairs to my front door, I’m not surprised by the silence that hits my ears.
My house always wreaks of alcohol thanks to my dad, but my nose is almost dead to the smell at this point. I turn to the right and enter the kitchen, where I splash my face with water from the faucet. Dirty dishes are stacked a mile high in the sink, but once again, I don’t even give them a thought. I walk out through the back door and grab my surfboard that is leaned against the house immediately to my left. Nothing is quite as relaxing to me as surfing. I learned from dad years ago, before he became a worthless drunk. No, I’m the only one in the house that knows how to surf, and I kind of like it that way. It allows for me time, and I enjoy what little of that I get. The sand rolls out from under my sandaled feet as I walk down the beach to the cove. My pack is light today. No books, no spare clothes –save the jacket and t-shirt that I was wearing earlier. The only thing in my pack besides these articles is a bottle filled with purified water, a sandwich, two apples, and a wax bar for my board. It could use it, I think. I plop down on the sand, about five yards from the water, lay the board across my lap, and pull the wax from the bag. A breath of relief leaves me as I begin to wax down the board, the sun passing by the midday mark. The waves are rolling in, and the day looks promising.
Speaking
Heard
I could get used to this whole fall thing. I think that every year. Literally every year when fall rolls around, I find myself thinking this same thing. Another reaping down, another year to work my tail off for the next one. I’m sixteen now which means I can hold a part time job to help support my family, but I doubt I will do that. I will probably keep doing what I have been. I will keep going with my career training, and continue trying to be the best influence I can on my siblings. But right now that is all far from me. The only thing that matters right now is the ground beneath my feet, and the beach that waits at the end of my run. It’s around midday and the heat that remains let’s me know that summer has not quite ended. Sweat rolls down face and back as I turn down the street. The aqua blue surf emerges on the horizon as I continue over the cap of a hill, down into the area where I live. The houses are larger here, and the people snootier. My house is the most run down of all of them, but it is still home. My brothers and sisters are all gone for the day. My oldest sister has taken them away, so when I finish my run by climbing the stairs to my front door, I’m not surprised by the silence that hits my ears.
My house always wreaks of alcohol thanks to my dad, but my nose is almost dead to the smell at this point. I turn to the right and enter the kitchen, where I splash my face with water from the faucet. Dirty dishes are stacked a mile high in the sink, but once again, I don’t even give them a thought. I walk out through the back door and grab my surfboard that is leaned against the house immediately to my left. Nothing is quite as relaxing to me as surfing. I learned from dad years ago, before he became a worthless drunk. No, I’m the only one in the house that knows how to surf, and I kind of like it that way. It allows for me time, and I enjoy what little of that I get. The sand rolls out from under my sandaled feet as I walk down the beach to the cove. My pack is light today. No books, no spare clothes –save the jacket and t-shirt that I was wearing earlier. The only thing in my pack besides these articles is a bottle filled with purified water, a sandwich, two apples, and a wax bar for my board. It could use it, I think. I plop down on the sand, about five yards from the water, lay the board across my lap, and pull the wax from the bag. A breath of relief leaves me as I begin to wax down the board, the sun passing by the midday mark. The waves are rolling in, and the day looks promising.
