April 6, 2012
By -Leah SILVER, Arlington, Washington
-Leah SILVER, Arlington, Washington
7 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
"The nicest thing is to open the newspapers and not to find yourself in them." - George Harrison

The air presses around my exposed skin, charged with the familiar feeling just before rainfall. Gradually, I smell the earthy scent of fresh water as the first few drops begin to fall, softly dappling the faintly lit concrete sidewalk. I quickly readjust the strap on my messenger bag, making it easier to move quickly under the flickering street lamps and drooping trees.

Quickly, the drops become fatter and wetter, popping like blisters on my skin. I stare up at the inky black sky, halfway expecting the clouds to be patting each other on the back, shakily telling one another of the bright future ahead, all the while knowing full well they will drift away, never to see each other again. Instead, the clouds are behaving as clouds should, silently drifting through the vast atmosphere, not aware of anything around, below, or above them.

I'm snapped out of my thoughts as I accidentally slam my foot into a small pool of icy water, successfully soaking my ankles. "Gah!" I cry, shaking my head. "Pay attention, pay attention!"

Now, I focus my line of vision on the sidewalk, slowly sinking into disrepair. The cracks dance like two starry-eyed lovers, knowing nothing but the touch of the other in the dim moonlight, needing nothing but the breath of the other to survive. I shake my head, as I wrap my arms around myself in an attempt at keeping warm.

"I'm almost home now, anyway," I grumble to myself, flicking my sopping bangs out of my eyes. I round the corner, finding the familiar street comforting. The houses on either side are sleeping, with the manicured yards glistening, the flowerbeds flooding. Water streams down the slightly sloped road, rushing into the drain with such a roar that I would not be surprised if there were a small river running in the sewers, whisking away the dirt and the leaves of the commoners' streets.

Moss grows thickly on the retaining wall guarding the houses from the danger of the outside world, as if trying to add cushion to the looming concrete wall. I pick off a strip of the vegetation, thinking, "Suck on that, Neighbors." I grin to myself as I toss the green fluff into the gutter, where it is soon grasped by the quickly moving water and carted off to the mysterious sewers below.

Now, nearing the long gravel drive to my house, I slow down, listening to the empty crunch of my sneakers on the cold rocks. The water has begun to pool in the divots in the old path, but I expertly maneuver around them, arriving at the molding wooden gate too soon.

Sighing, I push it open, letting it dangle helplessly on it's hinge behind me. The grass has overgrown, creating a jungle of suburban wonder where my backyard should be. I stomp through the ankle deep grasses and flowers to the rotting screen door, where holes have developed from wild animals picking at it, desperate for the food within.

I pull the metal handle, listening to the familiar creak sure to wake anyone in the house. Stepping under the overhang of the roof, I take one last breath of the refreshing spring smell before dragging myself into the decrepit house, filled with the few remaining rose-coloured memories and the musty smell of disrepair.

I lock the door behind myself in an effort to keep the insides a mystery to the outsiders, who just wouldn't understand. As I trudge through the mess, I try to focus on the refreshing rain, hoping it will wash away this misery and replace it with the new life of spring.

Similar Articles


This article has 0 comments.


MacMillan Books

Aspiring Writer? Take Our Online Course!