I lie in the hospital bed, waiting for my my father to aid me… That car crash really took a toll on me, huh? I wonder if I will make it...Heh… My eyes are s-so…tired… I struggle to stay awake… I fall asleep.
“Max! Wake up, you have to go to school!”
“Yes moron, it’s time for you to get ready for school.”
“Oh, right. I’ll be downstairs soon.”
Alright I guess it’s time for me to get ready…
Once I’m ready,I run downstairs.
“Alright, I’m ready. See ya!”
“Stop. You need to eat your breakfast.” My uncle said in stern manner.
“Ugh, really? Even with those eggs?”
“Yes, boy! I slave to wake you up and make you food every damn morning.”
“Okay…” I begin to slightly shake, but I keep it to myself so he won’t notice.
“Here! Take it.” Grandpa hands over the food furiously.
“T-Thanks…” I shiver and eat a small bit of the food.
“Alright, I’m full.” I hand over the plate to my grandpa.
“You barely ate! What the hell. Boy...” Grandpa threatened.
“Sorry… I wasn’t hungry. I have to go now.”
“Get the hell out of here.” Grandpa hollered.
I walked to school, as sweat began to drip down my forehead. Wondering what will happen when I get back home.
The school day began and I couldn’t focus.
I went back home and grandpa was waiting for me.
“How… Was school?” Grandpa asked creepingly.
“Uh… It was good.”
“Don’t wanna talk to me?” Grandpa questioned.
I remained silent. I didn’t want to start any more arguments. I walked up to my room, steadily.
“Boy! Don’t think you can get away…” Grandpa threatened again.
I jotted up stairs in fear.
Why can’t I live a quiet, peaceful life? What does this man want from me?
Tears fall down my face as I lie in my bed, my head leaning on my pillow praying that I can warp to another world.
Creative Piece: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vAIMIfiCRZc
Authors Note: I decided to use Atwood's writing style in my own short story. After analyzing her own work, I noticed that Atwood likes to convey emotions through descriptive language. I wanted to emulate this idea throughout my short story by showcasing how our protagonist felt when he was being scolded. His palms were sweaty, knees weak... He was scared to death and didn't want confrontation. Atwood is the type of writer that is easily able convey emotions through descriptive language and she does it well.