Rondel C. Descriptive Essay

Children usually do the opposite of what their parents say. They know that it’s wrong, but they do it anyway. For example eating cookies before dinner or playing in the dirt.  Then if something goes wrong like we get dirt on our new clothes or we break something. Our first thought isn’t to tell the truth but to make a story that could cover up what happened.

The black and white ball bounced around like a pen ball.  My eyes followed the moving of the ball like I was in a trance. They kick the ball around the living room without a care in the world laughing and giggling.  I guess they were ignoring their conscious because our mom told them not play soccer in the house many times before. My brother said “Let’s have points,” my sister happily obliged. The bottom of the black wooden entertainment center that held our television was my sisters’ goal.

 In between the blue vase and the little round black table was my brothers’ goal. They started to kick the ball fiercely back and forth. I could see the intensity in their faces, this was no longer a game it was a competition.  My conscious told me this was a bad idea, but I kept it to myself.  Every time they kicked the ball, you heard a loud THAWP!  Game went to ten; each goal was celebrated by a little tease or taunt. It was tied up 9 to 9, they both started to kick the ball with great force. My sister kicked the ball, it hit the blue vase, and they didn’t even stop to see if it broke or if it cracked. At this point I couldn’t just sit on the gray lumpy couch and watch this.  Finally I spoke up and said, “I think you guys should stop.”  By being the youngest no one listened to me , I felt invisible, I guest now I had no choice but to watch.   My sister scored the final goal; she celebrated like she just won the World Cup, she rubbed it the pie of victory in my brothers’ face. 

He got mad and slammed himself into the dark brown rocking chair. The rocking chair hit the mirror with a loud BANG! The crack began to spread like a wildfire. Then the bottom half of the mirror fell to the floor. CRASH!!!! Tat was the sound the mirror made as it fell to the wooden floor.  The impact made the glass break into even more pieces, some were big others were the size of dimes. I knew that my mom would not be happy about this.  The only thing my sister said was “Ooooooo, you in trouble.”  My brother tried to deny that he did it, but the look on his face said other wise. Guilty was written across his forehead.  My brother wasn’t going down alone he said, “It’s your fault too!”  Both of them sweep up glass, they looked at me, I knew they wanted me to help but at the same time knew that they should’ve listened to me. 

 After they were done sweeping my brother and sister tried to come up with a good story to cover it up.  “Say it fell,” my sister said. “It’s crack, she would ask why didn’t the whole thing fall” said my brother.  For hours they tried to come up with a good story, we all sat down stairs and waited for my mom to come home.  Our hearts began to thump louder and louder as each hour passed.  They were growing closer to their judgment.  We heard the screen door, and then we saw the knob turned.