No matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t do it. There was no way I could possibly bring
myself to a state of mind where it was ok. Everyone else does it, I thought. It
didn’t help me at all. I turned over and pressed my pillow to my face. “ I
refuse to get up”. My sister walked towards me and patted me on the leg.
“ Come on” she said “get up before you miss the bus.”
“No way,” I groaned into the pillow, trying to prolong the
few moments of peace I had left before I was removed from my cocoon of warmth
and happiness into the brutal world.
Like a baby being removed from its mother for the first time, I wanted
to cry. I held in my tears as I placed my warm foot onto the cold, marble
floor. In an instant, all the warmth and comfort was sucked out of my foot like
a vacuum cleaner removing dust from small corners. Covering myself in my
blanket I placed one foot next to the other. I felt completely empty. The cold
and uncomfortable feelings pierced my soul. I stood up and took two steps
forward. The cold floor is always the worst part. The cold floor.
.
"Cherish." Cherish. N.p., n.d. Web. 06 Dec. 2013.
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ReplyDeleteYou're a great story writer! I love your descriptions... it's like watching a short film.
ReplyDeletenice story Daniela!
ReplyDeleteLoved your story Daniela! The repetition really adds a cool effect.
ReplyDeleteI love your story and the picture! Your writing is beautiful!
ReplyDeleteI can relate to your story, which made me like it a lot. You are a great writer and it is a pleasure to read your stories. The photo you uploaded is very nice; it relates to the story, and yet it's a simple one. Good job, Daniela!
ReplyDelete