I cant name this (Open to all!)
Jul 20, 2010 13:28:05 GMT -5
Post by peanutpie on Jul 20, 2010 13:28:05 GMT -5
Luccina Pinna
When I was younger, every saturday night my father would take me outside, to the back of the shop, where the grassy patch behind was soft, we would lay out a blanket and I would watch the stars move, while he would sit on the porchswing, tapping his fingers on the railgaurd. I would wear my favorite jacket, a blue leather one that was from the capitol, when my father went there on a business trip to sell nightengales. My hair would be sprawled on the blanket, its knit weave entangling the dark brown strands in a lock. But, honestly, I didnt care. Because when silence greeted the night in nothing but total calmness, serenity even. I would hear the tingling of cow bells from the pasture a half a mile down the street, and I could taste the dewy air in the dark night sky. Silver melted to the black, as I watched.
*****
What does this have to do with my life? I slammed off the alarm clock that was beeping furiously and looked around my bedroom. Light flooded in from the curtains, and I got off of my bed and started to prepare for school. I splashed my face with water and put on a small amount of makeup (Made from all natural stuff. Two stores over sold it amongst the aplethra of socks and shoes) and put on a pink dress and bronzen boots. Hair brushed, I looked less like a savage, more like a girl. I grabbed my bag, a green one made of dyed bird feathers and grabbed a small piece of bread before rushing out to school. I was running late, as usual. The school yard had a few rebel-types, who were trying to get my attention. "Hey Pinna, spoiled rotten Pinna! Rich Pinna! Rich Pinna!" A boy taunted. And I thought I was well liked. By some means, I was. This was the only group that hated me, really. They were the kids who's family's had to work in the chicken coops, picking up manure in the pastures, and who had at least three other kids in the house. If you were supporting, say two kids with these jobs, it would be pretty middle class. You had everything you needed, and wanted. My family ran something like a gift shop, except for it was nightengales and my mothers homemade clothing. Sure, there was the occasional beeswax candle or piece of candy, but my mothers sweaters sold best. I shot a dirty glance at the boys, and stormed inside, hearing "OOooh nightengale rich girl not happy." I slammed the door behind me and got into the classrooms, where I opened the door to English, and sat down.
"Miss Pinna, why are you late?" Mr.Colbris asked. I felt I had eyes trained on me, especially one person in particular.
"I woke late." I used the usual excuse.
"Just sit down," He motioned towards my usual seat, which I sat down in.
When I was younger, every saturday night my father would take me outside, to the back of the shop, where the grassy patch behind was soft, we would lay out a blanket and I would watch the stars move, while he would sit on the porchswing, tapping his fingers on the railgaurd. I would wear my favorite jacket, a blue leather one that was from the capitol, when my father went there on a business trip to sell nightengales. My hair would be sprawled on the blanket, its knit weave entangling the dark brown strands in a lock. But, honestly, I didnt care. Because when silence greeted the night in nothing but total calmness, serenity even. I would hear the tingling of cow bells from the pasture a half a mile down the street, and I could taste the dewy air in the dark night sky. Silver melted to the black, as I watched.
*****
What does this have to do with my life? I slammed off the alarm clock that was beeping furiously and looked around my bedroom. Light flooded in from the curtains, and I got off of my bed and started to prepare for school. I splashed my face with water and put on a small amount of makeup (Made from all natural stuff. Two stores over sold it amongst the aplethra of socks and shoes) and put on a pink dress and bronzen boots. Hair brushed, I looked less like a savage, more like a girl. I grabbed my bag, a green one made of dyed bird feathers and grabbed a small piece of bread before rushing out to school. I was running late, as usual. The school yard had a few rebel-types, who were trying to get my attention. "Hey Pinna, spoiled rotten Pinna! Rich Pinna! Rich Pinna!" A boy taunted. And I thought I was well liked. By some means, I was. This was the only group that hated me, really. They were the kids who's family's had to work in the chicken coops, picking up manure in the pastures, and who had at least three other kids in the house. If you were supporting, say two kids with these jobs, it would be pretty middle class. You had everything you needed, and wanted. My family ran something like a gift shop, except for it was nightengales and my mothers homemade clothing. Sure, there was the occasional beeswax candle or piece of candy, but my mothers sweaters sold best. I shot a dirty glance at the boys, and stormed inside, hearing "OOooh nightengale rich girl not happy." I slammed the door behind me and got into the classrooms, where I opened the door to English, and sat down.
"Miss Pinna, why are you late?" Mr.Colbris asked. I felt I had eyes trained on me, especially one person in particular.
"I woke late." I used the usual excuse.
"Just sit down," He motioned towards my usual seat, which I sat down in.
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