The Canopy Tree

Mango

My bedroom was a plain brown color, the color of the mud supporting our house. The Acadia wood pillars aligning my room shift, causing an echoing creek, shattering the silence in my room. I slide one leg at a time out of my spring bed, and I yawn, stretching my arms outward. I slide my other leg out, and stand. The sun shines brightly through my perfectly made window. It was one of the few windows with no cracks or shatters. I hear the faint roar of a lion, envying its power and strength. I walk to my clothe pile and rummage through it, finding a dull yellow dress. It had small red and blue beads aligned the bottom trim of the dress. I take off my worn down cloth pj's. I slip on the dress and comb my hair with my wooded brush. As my brush snags onto my think, curly hair and I wince. My hair, always seems to be knotted, covers my head to my hips. I continue to rip at it untill it's at least descent. I walk out and look for Wecan, my younger brother. My mother, always at the market trading or earning money, never has time to take care of me and my brother. As I walk into my kitchen, I smell the sweet scent of my favorite fruit, the mango. Mangos were hard and nearly impossible to get in Africa. It was a rare treat to my family, only achieved with hard work, and a lot of money. I look around and cast my gaze upon a fresh mango laying still on our wooden table. I walk over and pick up the juicy fruit and hold it in my hand. I roll it around my hand, feeling the smooth surface of the mango. I raise it to my mouth and take a bite. It's juice drops into my mouth sending the flavor throughout my tastebuds. I lower my hand, then walk to my house door, or better known as the open entrance. As I look out I notice im not the only child looking outside. My jaw drops as low as the Dead Sea as I spot something I've never seen. The mango falls from my hands, crashing to the floor. It's rolls down my houses stairs made out of stones, and settles down in the dirt.