Meaningless numbers and lines scribble on my paper and I decide then that I am not focused. To fix this, I run downstairs to grab something to fill my stomach. Right as I am about to eat the crimson apple, my mom interrupts me,
"Don't eat that!" she exclaims her hands in the air. Flour coated her aging face and whitened her brunette hair. An apron rested on her hips and a whisk settled in her hand. She storms towards me and grabs the apple, sighing in relief. "I need that for the pie."
"Pie?" I question and grab an orange instead. I peel it, the tangy aroma filling my nose.
"We have new neighbors!" she points across the way as if I didn't know that. "I wanted them to feel welcomed. God knows none of our other neighbors would."
"Good for you mom." I offer her a smile. "Well I have to get back to-"
"Do you want to help?" my mother asked at the same time, she then retracted the question. "Oh never mind, get back to your work."
YOU ARE READING
stars
Poetrya story in which a girl meets a sad boy with cancer and helps him see the stars in the darkness
