I wrote a story when I was in year 9 but now i have taking a crack at rewriting that same story completely.
Story of a girl who lost her mother at a young age and decides between two guys who she likes and between two dreams/hobbies she loves in order to have one perfect future.


2. Moving day



The car journey, most of all, was tedious and dull. Since her death, father and I rarely have personal conversations, particularly after his found for alcohol. Instead I listened to my music in silence, gazing out the car window; watching the towers and flats pass by, people strolling and laughing at a joke I couldn’t quite hear. How I wish I could be like them, not to have a care in the world and be able to have fun again, before that night. But what can I do now, I can’t go back and prevent it happening, dad has told me to move on but let her live in my heart. But why is that so much easier said than done?



The transition between the city and the suburbs was unusual and surprising. You normally see those girls who move from cities like Manhattan and go all drama queens of how their lives would never be the same. Well, my life already had change; this just had seemed something somewhat normal in my life. There was something about this new home that seemed welcoming, but what made me feel this way was unknown to me, for now anyway. . A traditional suburban house, a place of solitude in comparison to the apartment in Manhattan, filled with shutter windows, a porch swing and open and big rooms indoors. I step through the threshold of our new home, however I halted in the middle of the living room; feeling weighed down with regret. Our new home, without her, here I have nothing to remember her by, what will I do?

I sigh; all I can do is move on and continue to look after everyone else, like I have done for the past several years. I began my work and aided the moving men on unloading our belongings; this preoccupies me for several hours, leaving my room to be decorated last. It wasn’t till 10pm when I had finally put the finishing touches to my room as well as the entire house, it was simply but it was home. My room lacks in furniture and personality; a double bed with an intricate and elegant wooden headboard, with a flowing pristine white bed covers. The walls were painted white, with hard wood floors and a basic desk in the corner of the room where my laptop and variety of school instruments now sit. It was basic but I tend not to notice the dull exterior of my room, what is the point in making it fancy when all I do is sleep and work in here otherwise I spend all my time cleaning and cooking? I sigh and slump onto my newly made bed and lay there thinking about her once more.

“I’m so sorry for leaving you mother, if I could I would have brought you here with us…please for-forgive me” my voice chokes before I pass out into my deep slumber. 

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