The walls were so bland; so horrible to stare at. With the blue and white striped curtains pulled back, sunlight shines through, showing the dust that flies around in the air. The dust we inhale everyday. When we sleep, when we wake, when we eat.
The walls were a boring, beige color. With the blue and white striped couch to match the curtains, it was a boring house. With a square box television sitting on a dusty, old television stand, that was the only thing in the room except me and the TV dinner stand.
The walls sat there like barriers for the rooms. With only doorframes to open them.
The walls keep privacy for every being in the house.
The walls are the things we take anger out on.
The walls are like a human.
They stand strong until one big blow, and they crumble.
I'm Jane Wishow and this is my story.
YOU ARE READING
Story
Short StoryJane Wishow lives a boring life, in a boring house, in a boring town. Her mother and father died in a car crash five years ago. She lives with her grandmother in her boring house.
