Kat : A Best Friend

Inside were curtains, a couch, a stove, and potholders. You are where you live. She was somebody.” (Quindlen, n.d.) Immediately, as a reader, I felt the emotional weight and connected to Quindlen and her homeless friend Ann. Quindlen’s description of the photograph allowed me feel as if I had lost something, even though there was no physical connection.

I really need to clean this house, it’s so dusty. Bending down to fix the bookshelf, I noticed that it was unorganised. “Goodness gracious, it’s such a mess!” I thought to myself on why I haven’t cleaned this part of the house. As I took out all the books, I noticed a very familiar book. It was a worn out journal with the cover slightly ripped, it was the a dark shade of purple. My eyes widening realizing what this journal was. Immediately I plopped down, turning to the pages as I read.

Maria comes home one day earlier than usual. Her family, two daughters of age five and eight and a stay-at-home husband, is surprised to see her so early and unexpectedly. The tired look on her face reveals the experience she had at work. She brings out a sluggish smile as her daughters rush up to greet her with their warm embraces, reminding her of the happiness they constantly provide but also saddened by their questionable future. Quietly, she sits down in front of her anxious spouse as he patiently awaits the news, sensing the tension in the air.

Posters and pamphlets strewn across the walls accompany the harsh, burning stench of disinfectant. Passing the bodies of former men, and followed by the click-clack of nurses shoes, he sees him. Hollow cheeks, sunken eyes, every bone visible through the thin hospital gown. His love is a shell of the man he once knew, Patty is gone.

It was the year 1922 and life hadn’t been this good in a while, times had taken a big change for the best. In Manhattan, New York, there were extravagant parties every weekend; the whole city shows up and doesn't leave until they see the sun. There was once this wealthy family living right in the middle of the roaring twenties. There was a mom, a dad, an older sister named Alice, and a younger sister named Anna. Alice loved to go to all of the huge parties, meet new people, and not come home until the morning. Every time Alice would get ready to go out for the night, Anna would watch her get ready as if she was picturing that was herself. Anna looked up at her sister and wanted to do everything she did. Alice had been talking about this party for a long time, and the night

An idea was tracing through the back of her mind, and so she thought to try and best and quickly she could manifest how she felt. Several minutes minutes of failure of preforming such mental acrobatics propelled Katie towards the decisive choice of going to her closet. As she opened the mirror door, Katie gazed into her own ocean green eyes, and revealing a bounty of tired clothing nobody really wore. Her slender arm reached a slender hand to grasp an engraved brown leather booklet.

Next to the front door, Noah had propped a backpack up against the wall. From it, he fished out car keys, hissing as they crashed against each other. He packed his car halfway down the block tonight so his mother wouldn’t hear it as it scuffled down the driveway, see the headlights as he sped off. He shouldered the backpack, readjusting his balance as the weight shook him back and forth. He sent another glance towards upstairs, to his mother’s bedroom. She would hate him for this. She would destroy him for this.

Brent walked down the dirty road to Old Irt’s home, or what used to be that. He stood outside, memories flooding back to him. Closing his eyes, he creaked the door open, dust falling to the floor as he did this. Inside, Brent saw nothing but books and old papers. He sat down in a chair and picked up one of Old Irt’s books. The first page was blank, all except for something Old Irt had written inside it.

Margot said nothing, only rushed up the stairs to her bedroom. She slammed the door shut, falling upon her bed with sobs. The sobs did not last long as Margot’s mom came into the room. “What is wrong, dear?” asked her mom tenderly, caressing her daughter’s pale cheeks. Margot lifted her face, revealing her puffy red eyes and tear streaked

She looked down at the coffee table to see a brown box filled with a few things. On top, she could see some family photos in gold color frames. “Thank you,” she said to him. She walked over to her father’s chair and sat down. She became aware of an uneasy feeling around him and wanted as far away from him as possible. It may have come from her dad complaining about him for a long time. She was now wishing for her uncle to show

Me and Sam’s room on the second floor has an aroma of quaint antiquity with old maple wood floors and pastel walls. We live in history. Sam’s family and mine joked about our room’s size and the surprise of sharing one closest, but it felt like home. After hanging up my Tupac Shakur and Snoop Dogg poster beside my Harlem Renaissance painting “Brownstone”, Sam and I said our farewells to our families and headed to dinner together in the school’s cafeteria.

As a very important dramatic changes in Kat’s life. That’s when Kat left United States and went to Iraq. For her job requirements to be an oversea worker as a security monitoring in United States armed forces. She was very distracted and being stressed enough making her decision to travel oversea countries.

Her mind was festered by a relentless disease, one that was corrupting and polluting the once graceful and genial mum i knew before. I was next on its hit list. Escaping, the balcony received me, clothing me with a blanket of peace and in its process conjuring the fresh conversation I had with dad a few nights ago.

“Ok, I understand Mrs. Evans.” He noticed the way she looked at her husband’s picture hanging on top of the chimney. It was like he was still there to watch her. Everything in the room was tidy and clean. She must have made time pass by cleaning up everything. He could see though that there was an unusually big pile of papers on the corner of the desk behind her seat. Maybe she had been busy organizing some things, a job or maybe a closer investigation on the case…

Her fingers traced the binders that lined the wall, skimming the countless hours they had taken to compile; they stopped promptly upon one labeled, “reminders.” She drew it from the wall and took it to her desk. The wood was heavily worn, its user having spent obsessive nights and days perfecting each piece of work that met its face. Her eyes stared at the page, three boys pictures were smiling back at her with contempt. The smell of cigarettes came from these photos and the details listed below them, vivid descriptions of their lives and personalities. The tallest of the three was sandy haired and grinned, showing off yellow-stained teeth that should have belonged to a middle-aged drunk. His arms hung low to his waist and his legs added