Miss Emily is not mentally sound, and everyone is aware of it. They kind of fear her in a way because she isn’t one of them, but they respect her money and kind of just let her do her own thing most of the time because she isn’t really harming anyone. But they need to collect taxes from her. She is rich, yet doesn’t pay her taxes.
Miss Emily is living in the past, and is living in her own little reality where she is exempt from their rules.
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There is a guy on the patio with a Cigar, cowboy hat and a bowtie. He has a fancy looking sweater, probably cashmere. He set out a checkered rainbow tablecloth and a cauldron-looking ashtray. The music cuts off and another barista takes the aux chord. Slower rock, guitar and drum intensive plays. A guy with a mohawk and a marijuana leaf t-shirt sits and talks to the cigar smoking gentleman while he vapes. I really can’t stand people who vape. There is a clear distinction between the cigarette smoke and the vape clouds. Big, longer lasting clouds of white stay together as they blow away in the wind. The cigarette smoke hovers and ascends momentarily before dispersing and disappearing in the breeze. A girl with orange dreadlocks joins cigar gentleman and vaping stoner. She is wearing clashing shades of purple and sunglasses even though the day is grey and cloudy. She drinks a mountain dew and eats a muffin, crumbs sticking to her cheek.
Mitchell nervously picks at his fingernails. There is a lot more white on his nails showing he hasn’t been as stressed lately, but something is bothering him.
The coffee shop logo, painted on, doesn’t have clean lines. Brown is mixed with the green and though it looks fine from across the cafe, it looks messy up close. Sweet Caroline is playing in the background. Several people join in on the “Buh buh buuh”s, then go back to whatever they were working on. There is a guy that is the exact stereotype of what I don’t like. Wearing knock-off jordans, joggers, a flat billed cap, gauges and an adidas hoodie. He and his friends are making vape clouds outside in the rain. Ew.
Stuck
The sky is gray and dull, but Mitchell (who prefers to be called the Ginger Ninja due to his fiery hair and quirky personality) still thinks it’s a perfect day for climbing. “BYE MOM I’M GOING TO PLAY” He shouts as he runs out of the house, leaving the door open behind him. “Don’t hurt yourself! Stay on this side of the street!” His mother, Karen, yells after him. “Yeah, sure!” He calls back, not having really paid attention to what she said.He makes a dash for his favorite tree, and quickly makes his way up, having climbed it dozens of times before. He sits down at his hiding spot near the top of the tree and grabs one of his candy bars he stashed there. He feels so alone and free up here, like a bird. He sometimes closes his eyes and imagines himself jumping off the branch and flying. After almost an hour up in the tree, with a sore bum and empty candy wrappers stuffed in his pockets, he decides to make his way down. Only a few branches down from his hiding spot, his foot slipped and he fell backwards off the branch. His trousers got stuck on the next branch down and, with a terrible wedgie, Mitch realized his pants caught his fall. At first he was relieved, but then he realized that he was stuck. He wiggled and tried to get off, but he was stuck hanging from a branch by the seat of his pants. He didn’t want to have his mom help him, but he was stuck. He hung his head in shame and called out to his mom. “MOM! MOM HELP I’M STUCK IN THE TREE! MOM!” He yelled as loud as he could. His mother ran out, a look of panic on her face, when she saw that he wasn’t hurt, just stuck she burst out laughing. “How the heck did you manage to get like that?” she asked him, trying to stop her laughter. “I slipped.” He mumbled back, embarrassed. “Okay, well let me get the ladder. And the camera.” “No don’t take a picture!” He whined, but it was too late, she was walking back into the house. She took a picture, got him down, cleaned him up, put bandaids on his scratches and made him some mac and cheese for dinner. He was embarrassed, but glad he had his mom to get him down. That night he dreamed about flying.
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AuthorI'm Emma. This is for a class. ArchivesCategories |