This is the first paragraph of my story, though I have wrote more.
Please be honest!
I stared out of the immaculate floor to ceiling glass windows of my bedroom, gazing at the artificially illuminated streets of night time New York. The Streets of Soho had been engulfed by the late night darkness and only the faint flickers of passing headlights disturbed the euphoric streets. I watched, half-heartedly, as the world whizzed by below me, seemingly without a care in the world. I was sitting on the cold, laminated flooring of my mom?s immaculate twentieth-floor apartment feeling like I had every care in the world, making up for everyone else?s lack. I stroked my finger against the icy glass, captured by the condensation that dripped carelessly in distorted paths, each drop significant yet so fragile and disregarded - Just like a human. Each so unique and distinct, yet still taken for granted. I?d taken my mom for granted and this was why tears were streaming down my raw cheeks, pink from my silent sobbing. Tomorrow morning, I would be boarding a plane for a one way journey to Pinedale.
A cosy, picturesque town, with a mere population of 1,600 exists in western Wyoming, America. And this small town is where one of my two remaining family members is situated. The small rural town, that is blessed by the luxury of three, vast mountain ranges is home to my distant, beloved father, Harry. For the next year - or longer, as my gut instinct told me - Harry had kindly agreed to accommodate me and the decision had been like a punch in the gut - Not that I?d ever admit to it. My mom still didn?t know of this discussion between Harry and me. She still thought both of us were staying in New York and I?d been to feebleto discuss my plans.
I adored my mother, Daphne, the closest person in my life. A best friend first, a mother second - always. But best friends, I told myself, make sacrifices for each other. And this was exactly what I was doing. My mom had slowly, but expertly clawed her way to the to of the ladder, and now had gained enough respect and popularity to be counted amongst the most talented chef?s in New York. It was this meritorious title that had unlocked the door to the biggest opportunity my mom had ever been offered and I was not going to mess this up for her. My mom had always wanted to travel, to see the world, to experience cultures and festivals that a person couldn?t even conjure up in their most beautiful dreams. My mom had opened the door to her ambitions seventeen years ago. I had slammed it shut as soon as she?d merely twisted the handle. My birth had halted my mothers dreams and since then they had been dangling in front of her, hanging from a fine thread, so easily destroyed.
Best friends do not leave. This was a rule my mom taught me. It seemed to counteract the sacrifice rule.
Thank you (:
& I'm 15.
& if possible, could you say which bits you thought were repeatitive? Thanks :] x
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