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Origonal Writing

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Original Writing Moving house, you must be joking. I'm fifteen years old, and my life is starting to get exciting. I don't think my parents understand how much this is affecting me, because I've done this all before. 7 years ago my dad came home from work, and said he had been offered another job. I thought he wouldn't take it because we had managed to make a life in Glossop. I had friends there, my whole world was there, but my parents decided that we would move to Somerset. On my last night I slept at my best friend's house. This was a mistake because the next morning I woke up and thought that was the last time I would ever wake up there. ...read more.


Memory's kept flooding back to me, silly things like when we bought our first computer, or when I helped my mum paint out living room. My favourite room in the house was of course my bedroom. I decorated it myself; the carpet was soft purple, the same colour as my furniture and curtains and the walls were minty green. I made sure I had put all of my photos around the walls, and I signed the corner of the room, to leave my mark. Somehow, on that last day, the room looked cold an empty; the walls were sickly and the carpet was stiff as I walked across to the window. ...read more.


I had been traveling for 5 hours, and I started to wonder if it would look amazing here. The end result was disappointment. I didn't think anywhere except Glossop, could seem like home. We got to the house, and I did like it. My dad put a blanket down and bought us some Chinese, and his new boss had given us a bottle of champagne. However, it didn't feel right; it was like we were celebrating leaving everything behind. I don't want to go through all of that again. My parents are refusing to talk about it all. They think I am mentally unstable or something along those lines. It feels patronizing when my parents don't think about me as another human being. They think I am just their daughter, and I don't need to know things. ...read more.

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