Summary : ' It Isn 't Fair ' Essay
“Why is it like this?”Mirie muttered looking at her lap.
She sighed as she looked out the window of the bus as it turned toward her neighborhood. Grey clouds obscured the sun. All the houses were the same dingy, decaying brown color. Some had broken shutters and doors barely hanging on their hinges. Her house was in fact similar.
Her bus came rumbling to a halt. Mirie sighed again as she stood up to get off the bus.
As she went down the steps, the driver called out,” Happy Holidays!”
Mirie smiled, replying just before the door closed, ”You too.”
Mirie walked towards her home slowly contemplating what exactly she could do in her situation. She had to get a christmas gift for Stan but she didn’t have the money to do so. She stepped onto the stoop of her house. She took the keys out, turning them in the old rusted lock in the paint peeled door. She tossed her worn-out coat onto the coat rack and sank into the couch that groaned at her weight. She surveyed her surroundings. A TV that was obviously long since out of date was sitting on a coffee table in the corner. A stained carpet lay under her feet and beneath that old hardwood floors that once shone in the light. There was a cracked window in the corner. It was a small little place but it was theirs. A beautiful painting hung against the wall, looking otherworldly compared to the cracked wall it hung on. It was the last one of her paintings that they still kept. There were only two things that Mirie and…