Here is my latest English assignment, based on a picture of oxford shoes. It has not yet been corrected, but I should receive a grade for it fairly soon.
The golden rays of sunlight spilled into the room, transforming it into an uninhabited sanctuary of peace. The birds sang with all their hearts, filling the atmosphere with a blissful anthem of ecstasy. Charles sleepily opened his eyes, and took in the magic of the uninterrupted morning. As the groggy haze began to clear in his mind, another sound could be heard. A muffled high-pitched call, that grew louder and louder. Charles sat bolt upright as he identified the sound. His mother. The young boy leapt out of bed to face her aggravation.
Charles galloped down the large marble staircase and abruptly encountered his mother. Resting her hand on her hip she said, “Charles Mozart Brown, I have been calling you for ages. It’s a good thing today is Saturday or you would have been unthinkably late for school. Breakfast is waiting.”
“Thanks Mom,” Charles mumbled as he shuffled his feet along. He knew he would be greeted by one of his mother’s vegan concoctions she seemed obsessed with producing. Apparently she thought that meat posed too many health risks.
Mrs. Brown followed her son into the kitchen, readjusting her fire red glasses as she spoke, “Charles, how would you like to be a big help to Mother?” A smile began to spread across her lips, accenting her expensive crimson lipstick. Charles had a sinking feeling in his stomach.
“Well, I was going to go gather some worms for my collection. There should be plenty after yesterday’s rain.”
“Oh, dear that sounds like fun,” she replied, trying to suppress the disgust she felt for the horrid creatures, “But I would be very grateful if you could come to my Adenoid Cystic Carcinoma awareness brunch with me. I think you would find it very beneficial, and we should always be aware of the ailments others may be facing.”
Charles looked down. He knew he had no choice. “I suppose I could go,” he mumbled almost inaudibly.
“Alright then darling, tuck your shirt in, comb over your hair, and off we go!”
Despair began to well up inside Charles, “But mom, it’s Saturday! None of the other boys have to dress like this on Saturday.”
“Yes dear, but the other boys aren’t as privileged as you are, and with privileges come responsibility.” His mother turned to leave the room. “Besides, reputation never takes the day off.”
As they pulled out of the driveway, Charles sat in silence. His mother chattered about what splendid things would arise from this gathering, and all the people that could be helped. He was defeated. His mother was always organizing charity banquets and conventions for rare diseases that no one had ever heard of, and what was the point? It didn’t seem to do any good; people would just keep getting sick. Charles gazed out the window at the slowly changing trees. The tips of their leaves began to be soaked in liquid color, a whisper of the transformation that was about to ensue. Charles then caught sight of some boys skateboarding down the driveway of one of the neighboring houses. How he envied them. They were having so much fun, yet he was stuck in a car on his way to an android stick convention. His gaze shifted to his reflection in the glass. Why did he have to be so different? In truth, he was a very normal looking boy. He had no special features to set him apart, but his brown locks that were combed over and plastered to his head seemed reason enough for the other boys to not want to hang around with him. Their disdain for him was unavoidable. He talked differently, and he never did what the other boys did. In trying to be normal, even his shoes betrayed him—the highly polished oxfords his father insisted would ensure his success. His teachers were a bit nicer he supposed, in fact, they thought him to be an agreeable boy. Yet he knew their depreciation of him. He knew how they shook their heads whenever he neglected to finish a task. He sighed, as he felt he would never be good enough for the constant judgments of those around him.
After returning home from the never ending event his mother described as “fun,” Charles heard a rap on the door. He rushed to open it in the hopes that his father had returned home from his business trip. He was not disappointed.
“Hey squirt, how are you?”
“You’re home!” Charles rushed to his father’s arms, and was supplied with a customary pat on the back. “How was your trip?”
“Oh, it was excellent. I am ecstatic about the future of Green Eggs and Ham publishing.”
Charles took a deep breath, and went in for the plunge, “Dad, could you play baseball with me tomorrow?”
Mr. Brown wrinkled his brow, “Well, son, I actually have to catch a flight to Chicago in the morning.”
“But you just got back!”
“Maybe next time, Partner. I’d better go find your mother.”
Charles stood there, crestfallen. His own father couldn’t even find the time for him. Charles stomped up to his room angry at his father. And the world. Why did life torment him so? Slamming the door to his bedroom, he looked around. He had everything a boy could ever want, but he didn’t have what he needed. All he wanted was love and acceptance. Charles pulled off his oxfords, throwing one against the wall. He flopped onto his bed, and closed his eyes, wishing the days ahead would never come.
