(no subject)
Amanda Walton
Mrs. Matus
English P-4
9-22-05
Narrative
When you are in a house you are not familliar with, and you get the opprotunity to search
around,you tend to do it. My parents went out for a party, and wouldn't be back until late. They decided
I could spend a few hours at my grandmother's house. I packed my walkman with my favorite Death
Cab for Cutie CD, and my journal. We drove over to the big old house in Pittston around 5:00.
I went up into the attic because it is nice and quiet. It was raining, so instead of listening to
Death Cab, I just sat in silence with the rain. It sounded like empty cans of chicken noodle soup being
hit with spoons. I sat up and looked around. There was an old red bicycle next to a ripped up lace
umbrella. I went over to the umbrella, and opened it. A key fell to the ground. I just could not
understand, why would there be a key in an umbrella?
After picking up the key I looked around all the old things in the attic. Finally I found an old
wooden chest. The key fit in, and I just had to see what was in there. Opening this old chest, my heart
stops. A tear rolls down my face, as I smile.
My mother died when I was eight years old. She would tell me so many stories, from when she
was a kid. How her favorite thing in the world to do was paint. Now that I am 14, I love to paint as well. I
pulled things out of the chest. A shadow came behind me and blocked the dim light from the window. I
looked behind me, but nothing. Black and white pictures were coming out in bag fulls. All of this was
so old, and meaningful. The stories she used to elaborate about, were right here in my hands. She
even kept a journal, just like I do.
I took her set of paints, and grabbed my things. When I went downstairs, I told my grandma, and
asked her why she never told me about my mothers things. She gave me one of those looks. She then
told me that the key was buried with my mother six years ago when she passed away.
My step-mom and my dad came to pick me up. It was still raining. Listening to the rain beat on
the top of the hood. I couldn't say anything, because it felt like a secret. A good type of secret, between
my mother and me. Something happened, and I am not positive what. I think it's better that way. When I
got home, i just painted, painted and listened to the rain tap on the roof.
Mrs. Matus
English P-4
9-22-05
Narrative
When you are in a house you are not familliar with, and you get the opprotunity to search
around,you tend to do it. My parents went out for a party, and wouldn't be back until late. They decided
I could spend a few hours at my grandmother's house. I packed my walkman with my favorite Death
Cab for Cutie CD, and my journal. We drove over to the big old house in Pittston around 5:00.
I went up into the attic because it is nice and quiet. It was raining, so instead of listening to
Death Cab, I just sat in silence with the rain. It sounded like empty cans of chicken noodle soup being
hit with spoons. I sat up and looked around. There was an old red bicycle next to a ripped up lace
umbrella. I went over to the umbrella, and opened it. A key fell to the ground. I just could not
understand, why would there be a key in an umbrella?
After picking up the key I looked around all the old things in the attic. Finally I found an old
wooden chest. The key fit in, and I just had to see what was in there. Opening this old chest, my heart
stops. A tear rolls down my face, as I smile.
My mother died when I was eight years old. She would tell me so many stories, from when she
was a kid. How her favorite thing in the world to do was paint. Now that I am 14, I love to paint as well. I
pulled things out of the chest. A shadow came behind me and blocked the dim light from the window. I
looked behind me, but nothing. Black and white pictures were coming out in bag fulls. All of this was
so old, and meaningful. The stories she used to elaborate about, were right here in my hands. She
even kept a journal, just like I do.
I took her set of paints, and grabbed my things. When I went downstairs, I told my grandma, and
asked her why she never told me about my mothers things. She gave me one of those looks. She then
told me that the key was buried with my mother six years ago when she passed away.
My step-mom and my dad came to pick me up. It was still raining. Listening to the rain beat on
the top of the hood. I couldn't say anything, because it felt like a secret. A good type of secret, between
my mother and me. Something happened, and I am not positive what. I think it's better that way. When I
got home, i just painted, painted and listened to the rain tap on the roof.