Rain☔️

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Pounding on the roof of our car as we drive home at midnight, I had only two percent battery on my phone, and nothing to do but listen.

I heard what was sounding like a million tiny pebbles showering down, pounding against the ceiling of our two year old black Jaguar, bouncing off and flying high as if they were on a trampoline.

I was laying down now, my body was spread sideways across three seats, with my head resting in my sister’s lap. I was about to drift off to to the rumble of thunder, when we heard the sudden crack of lightning.

Almost home, and falling asleep. Dad carried me into my bed.

I fell asleep to a thunderstorm, but I woke up to a rainbow.

Place🏰

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I’ve only been here once, but I long to back.

Nestled in the rolling hills of Slovenia, there is a house. A house with fresh eggs from live chickens next door every morning. A house where you can stand on the fountain in the front yard and see a castle. A house where the doorway is covered with hanging strands of green ivy, and where everything you see is picture perfect.

I would stand outside and play catch for hours, till the sun set, and till the moon rose. The roads there were narrow and winding, and due to the grape orchard and flower trail behind the little cottage, it always smelled like French wine.

This is not a fancy house either. It is a small wooden two-story shack with a balcony only 10 or 12 feet from the ground. There is a stone wall stretching the perimeter of the house, and a driveway so steep I could slide down it.

Front Porch

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Behind the window, I drew the curtain, putting my costume on. I headed outside to our stone driveway and spread plastic tombstones all over our lawn.

Rolling up the electric lights, and casting them over our roof, hanging creepy crawly spiders, and starting the lighters, to illuminate the room. With hot candle wax dripping all over the place, and fake blood across my sister’s face.

Next was carving the pumpkin down. I got my sharp knife, and my family gathered round. I sculpted along the orange fruit, and hollowed it out, ready to toast the seeds soon.

I placed it outside, decorating was almost done, finishing touches were so much fun. Stars strewn across the sky, a twinkle in my eye,

Halloween had finally come.

Sunday Morning

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Sunday morning, just a typical day in our family. As usual, I was the last one in the house to get up at about One pm. My mom had gotten up about half an hour before me, and was acting all smug, in a funny, show-offy kind of way, but she would instantly have my back as soon as my dad made a sarcastic comment about how I should be having lunch instead of breakfast, or something like that. Dad had a right to be smug, because nobody in the house was quite sure when he woke up on weekends. He works from home, and of course, gets weekends off, but sure enough, if I ever have a reason to get up early, he’s in his office. Either working hard, or pretending to work hard. I don’t ask. I’ve tried asking about his work, but whenever I do, he gives an extremely vague answer, not wanting to go into detail. With our family, he’s a pretty goofy guy, who tends to fake-pout a lot, and with strangers, he’s a sarcastic know-it-all(in a good way). Then my sister stumbled down the stairs. She was up before everyone but dad, but had chosen to stay in her room and check Instagram or Vine or Facebook or Pinterest or maybe just text her friends. Something like that. My mom was enjoying her daily breakfast of avocado, sprouted toast, feta cheese, and ginger tea, and my dad just had black coffee. My sister began to make eggs, and not talk to us, because of how grumpy she was in the morning, and I just didn’t eat because I couldn’t decide what to eat (Just like I never can when the time comes for breakfast). Then we all gathered around the Television just like we do every Sunday morning to watch Friends or King of Queens or Everybody Loves Raymond of some cheesy show like that before we start our homework.

Reading and Me

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Reading is a very complicated thing for me. I’m not a very gifted reader, but only because I used to be. This might not make sense, but back in  Third Grade, I was the biggest bookworm to be found. I read basically everything the average person would recommend to you. The Harry Potter Series, The Hunger Games, The Giver Series, and all the classics, including Anne of Green Gables, Little Women, and The Secret Garden. So by the start of Fourth Grade, you can imagine how hard it would be to find decent books to read. I struggled on my reading logs in Fourth and Fifth Grade, and spent hours at the Laura Bush Library all through sixth grade, riding the library school bus there, and being picked up by my dad. In Sixth Grade, I read mostly  romance novels, which were very, very short. I became out of practice. By now, I have a hundred different books that I’m dying to get around to, I just don’t finish them quick enough (The exact opposite of before).  Sooner or later, I’ll get back into my old habits, but until then, I’m stuck like this.

Sincerely,

Sairam678