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Rated: E · Prose · Other · #1797598
I wrote this two years ago, when I was fourteen, before I had taken any writing classes.
I remember waking early, lying on the flat fuzzy floor, tangled in my sleeping bag. Tiptoeing out of the room to the bathroom, gently tugging the bathroom door, trying to close it without it squeaking or banging. The cold tiles beneath my feet making me shiver and half dance my way across the room. Going back to the bedroom, to a mumbling slowly-waking girl, and another giggling one. Getting up, and scuttling down the shallow stairs with the two girls. Sitting at the kitchen table, trying to be quiet, with a girl who can't whisper. A sleepy-eyed dad coming down and running his hand through his bedhead hair as he tells us to 'sh.' An embarrassed girl protesting, "Dad!" to her father's joke. Two older, blond brothers coming down. One wiping the table with his hand and asking about breakfast, and the wet-haired other one just shivering. Eating breakfast, then dressing. Swimming in the sloped pool, doing handstands. Wrapped in towels, running, jumping onto the rock-pile path. Climbing on firewood to get over the fence. Going back inside through the loose back door. Changing, and sitting on the squishy couch, watching a movie, and brushing our wet tangled hair.
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