Taking the Garbage Out
By me
By me
“Take the garbage out!” I heard for the tenth time.
After ignoring the command for forced labor for five minutes, as was the custom in my household, I decided to take action before the wrath of my mother showed its face, the other custom. Scuffling together the trash mounds around the house into one whole heap, I wallowed into the front door to make my exit.
Oftentimes while handling this menial chore, I found myself gazing into the night sky, whimsical ideas and thoughts coming to life. But, as I finally unload my burden into the garbage can, that dark night sky turns from something of amazement, to the birth of paranoia in my mind. Fear of: Alien abductions, Bigfoot attacks, and encounters with the strange, soon come to life in my immediate surroundings.
As usual I find myself hurrying back home, to escape the torment of these figments. Arriving to find the front door locked to my salvation, I pound on the door.
“Why do they always lock the door?” I yell trying to conceal the fear in my voice.
The door graciously budges, and the one greeting me is my solicitous sister.
“Hahaha you always get so scared when I do that.” Jovially she states.
After a brief stair off between me and my sibling, I returned to my previous doings, before I was uprooted, which was writing a short story about the trials and tribulations of a journey.
After ignoring the command for forced labor for five minutes, as was the custom in my household, I decided to take action before the wrath of my mother showed its face, the other custom. Scuffling together the trash mounds around the house into one whole heap, I wallowed into the front door to make my exit.
Oftentimes while handling this menial chore, I found myself gazing into the night sky, whimsical ideas and thoughts coming to life. But, as I finally unload my burden into the garbage can, that dark night sky turns from something of amazement, to the birth of paranoia in my mind. Fear of: Alien abductions, Bigfoot attacks, and encounters with the strange, soon come to life in my immediate surroundings.
As usual I find myself hurrying back home, to escape the torment of these figments. Arriving to find the front door locked to my salvation, I pound on the door.
“Why do they always lock the door?” I yell trying to conceal the fear in my voice.
The door graciously budges, and the one greeting me is my solicitous sister.
“Hahaha you always get so scared when I do that.” Jovially she states.
After a brief stair off between me and my sibling, I returned to my previous doings, before I was uprooted, which was writing a short story about the trials and tribulations of a journey.
What are your thoughts.
