Engelsk tentamen

[Sunniva.]

Hei jeg har engelsk tentamen i morgen og trenger litt hjelp så alt dere måtte finne, hjelp meg! jeg går i 9. klasse, altså jeg er 14.

 

I walk out on the narrow lacework balcony outside my room in my pajamas. It is midwinter and the silky snow is flowing down from the sky like feathers. My feet are cold, but I do not mind because the sight is so lavishly . I turn my chin up and try to catch the snowflakes with my mouth, ending up on my back giggling.

 

Once I come in to the house again I feel the tension that has been here such a long time hit me in the gut. I am getting used to ignoring it, but I cannot help it anymore. This is not your home; the tension keeps on shouting, the words are echoing in my ears thought no one has ever dared saying them out loud.

 

I drag my feet down the stairs, and force up a smile as my older brother stands in the kitchen. He is running around cooking lunch in our huge kitchen, at first sight it might look chaotic but after a while you can see the pattern in it.

 

My little sister comes jumping down the stairs with unstudied grace, she has deftness and precision that is quite extraordinary for a six-year-old. Everyone is trying to tell her how great she would be as a ballet dancer, but loves basketball although she is just a quarter of the basket.

 

“Pixie”, she bawles and flew on my back.

 

“Birdie”, I crows and run into the living room with her and throw her in the divan.

 

I usually call her birdie because she is acts like one; you never know where she is. And I was named Pixie because of my pixie like ears. I examinant her, we do not even look like sisters, I sight. She lurks into the kitchen to help her brother, and the question comes creeping again; do I belong here?

 

No, I finally conclude with . I sneak up the stairs to pack a bag, I stomper a few things and some cash in the bag and prowl down the stairs again, and out the door. I go to the abounded park a few blocks away from our house. I like coming here because no one else does, and it is always so quiet here. I assemble myself at a bench, and watch the snowflakes make white dots in my hair. I plug in my earplugs and just sit there, for hours and hours.

I wake up from several sirens breaking through my sleepy world, and forces my eyelids open. I use some time to place myself into a sitting position, and burst all the snow from myself and my belongings.

 

My stomachs desperate squeals for food decide that I am going to the shop, my feet unwillingly following. When I pass my street I see a house on fire, completely of lit . It takes some time for me to realize it is my own house I am staring at. I drop my bag to the ground before I run, but I cannot get there fast enough. When I have a few meters left I slip and drop to the ground. But I only need to take a look at the fireman’s face coming towards me to understand.

 

Now that I do not have the choice anymore I understand. I have had a home all these years. But now I do not.

[Bruker87]

I usually call her birdie because she is acts like one