Rough Draft

Smithdale, New Hampshire, a city with explosive trees, narrow roads,dim personalities and no hope was where I was place for my entire life. I lived on 666-66 meadow drive nect to an old abandoned warehouse. Dark red daffodills that slept of the ground, crooked pavements that looked welcoming and the horrid smell of uncut grass described the best looking house on the block and I was lucky enough to live there.
In maany ways i felt i bongedthere because iitreflected my barbaric appearance. I had angry dark brown curls that had a mind of theown, inttelligent eyes, a small nose and chapped lips. These were reasons I walked alone for three years in highschool. I was a hurricane, I stole the smiles off people's faces and dampered their days with rain and that is why I was a ciminal according to my father.
I had a room of my own and my bed was rather small but i got used to it. I was never a light sleeper and my mom would push me off the bed and that would be my alarm clock. After several years it became routine and at some point I felt i deserved it for not waking up on my own. Before school, I usually eat cereal and walk the forty blocks to first period. Cresent High School is an all girls schooled filled with experimental girls and a rigid social hiearchy where I was First place at the bottom.

On march 4, the hallways seemed smaller than ever before. The nurse's office was four miles farther than yestrday. The lockers were a painter's creation and it all seemed to be part of this confusing illusion. My brain froze and my body melted. Nothing was the same that day despite the fact that it was my birthday. On my way to the office, I decided to think about all my precious birthdays and the gifts that I have ever received. I always expected what my gift would be but I'd always cry and that day would be unforgettable. This birthday, However, things would change, I just feel it. Five minutes away from the plain white door that was dependent on my future, I couldn't even think of the perfect excuse. It was between burning myself with the iron or falling on the pavement. Unfortunately I burnt myself with the iron too many times this year so the pavement story had to be good. As I turned the door knob and took about five baby steps into the room, Mrs Ronclark barked a "how are you ?" directly at my face. I said my usual "I'm Fine" and sat on the bed. Smiling at her, I tried to kick the nervousness out my body and welcome a more relaxed feeling. She looked me with a pathetic smirk saying "this is your 47th time in my office in 3 months. "what's going on?" I grinned and said I guess I'm just extremely clumsy. She denied that answer and told me that my parent should come in to have a talk with her. Unfortunately for her, my mom is an alcoholic and my father beats me so they are pretty much occupied.