Descriptive Essay - Original Writing
“What am I supposed to do?” I say, pleading. It’s not my voice. “She’s my girlfriend.” I’ve never had a girlfriend. The people who aren’t my parents look sadly at each other.
“Sloane,” they say. That’s not my name. “You can’t do anything.” The one who isn’t me turns away, and I hear someone else, fainter, from a distance.
“Davis,” My eyes snap open. My mother is standing over me, a concerned expression on her face. “Davis? Are you all right?” I glanced around the room, disoriented. The room no longer looks like the 1990’s furniture ad. It’s my room, blue curtains open, mess on the floor, stack of books on the nightstand.
“Fine,” I mumbled. “Just a bad dream.” Except I knew it wasn’t a dream. It had seemed too real to be a dream. It was more like a faint, distant memory. A memory that wasn’t mine. “What are you doing in here?” I said.
“Well, you know how I like to check in on you and your brother.” Right. It was summer vacation, and she always looked in us before she went to work. Somehow, I had forgotten that. It was mostly so she could check that my brother Shawn hadn’t died in front of his computer due to a lack of sunlight or fallen asleep at his computer, something he did most nights. It was a rare occasion when I passed him…