We have always lived in that modest rich red brick house, ever since I was a baby. But it isn’t just any old house, it is my home; it is where I grew up where I ran around riding broom sticks playing Harry Potter, where my best friends and I had our own World Cup in our “soccer stadium”, where we as a family spent countless hours watching home movies together.
It is a simple, wholesome house where I have always felt safe; it is lined with eighty-foot tall trees like an army of soldiers keeping the bad guys out. There is a bland white fence to keep the ferocious brown-black German Sheppard away from the paper boy. Two deep flower beds, that smelled of grandmas’ perfume, on either side of the sidewalk-chalked entryway. A large, sloped driveway with several large cracks that caused many bumps and bruises, especially during my figure skating phase.
However, I like to think of my pleasant abode in terms of a Cinderella story. Centered in the middle of the house is a gray stone overhang, looking somewhat like at enchanted castle, which is why it is referred to as the “castle room”, which belongs to my ugly step-sister (she actually isn’t ugly at all, that’s just how the story goes). To the left of the “castle room” is a boring, plain brick wall with a large window that is horribly centered, which of course happens to be my room. Unfortunately, there is no handsome prince, a glass slipper, or elegant ball in this story, but there is a fairy godmother, which is something I like to call college. Now that the ugly step-sister has been taken away to college, much to my joy I have now inherited the “castle room”. My old dungeon room is now a very large closet for myself, where I imagine my ugly step-sister frantically cleaning it; the large spacious “castle room” is where I get my beauty sleep.