I look different, I like different things, I’m fussy when it comes to eating, I wear quirky clothes and I don 't have all the fancy things my classmates have but worst of all, I don 't belong anywhere! I live in a small 3 bedroom, 1 bathroom home. Outside my bedroom window lies my escape where I feel, I do belong. This little piece of paradise lets me clear my mind of problems and worries. Every morning my older sister tends to the old oak tree that my mother and I planted 5 years ago, before her disappearance. There was no trace when she disappeared even though the police searched for months on end. I sometimes think about her, about, did she really want to go? Does she think about me? Or, has she forgotten I ever existed. When she was around, she made me feel like I had a place in this world, like I was made to be here. But now I feel out of place, like a fish out of water. I have learnt to cope with the changes but it’s still difficult. My sister is so supportive and helps me in every way she can. I know she’s still hurting on the inside but she puts on a brave face for me. Despite her support I still feel as if something is missing. Mum was the only one who understood my disability. I attend a school about 10 minutes away from my home. I don 't have any friends at school and get picked on quite a bit.
One morning I …show more content…
I loved waking up to the sunrise much like my mother used to. I continued to gaze out the window and saw the vibrant garden my mother and I had planted together. I was named after my father’s mother, Eva. My grandma was a loving person who had blonde hair like mine. I was about to get ready, when my sister Anneliese called out. I quickly ran down our old, rickety staircase to the kitchen where I saw my sister sitting at the dinner table looking upset. She had her face in her hands and tears streaming from her eyes. “Five years Eva, five long hard years it has been since father went
One morning I …show more content…
I loved waking up to the sunrise much like my mother used to. I continued to gaze out the window and saw the vibrant garden my mother and I had planted together. I was named after my father’s mother, Eva. My grandma was a loving person who had blonde hair like mine. I was about to get ready, when my sister Anneliese called out. I quickly ran down our old, rickety staircase to the kitchen where I saw my sister sitting at the dinner table looking upset. She had her face in her hands and tears streaming from her eyes. “Five years Eva, five long hard years it has been since father went