《Close Your Eyes》 Chance encounter ¡°Bustling streets¡± was and always has been associated with places like New York. Look no further to find every walk of life from toddlers to folk reaching retirement littering the streets from dusk to dawn trying to get somewhere with an odd sense of urgency. Of course, tourists are an exception at times. The city is the home of beautiful people with dreams of grandeur and well, those who lost it in battle. The place where dreams flourish or go to die- what a story. People who lose hope though, will eventually develop a nasty addiction. Whether it¡¯s with illegal happy drugs or delectable sweets from world famous pastries, it¡¯s not a pretty sight. Of course their story doesn''t reach the light of day. No sad mother crying for their addicted daughter sparks an interest on the internet. No, it¡¯s the cancer patients and other disaster survivors that are fighting the ¡°good fight¡± that sells. Now, today¡¯s interest or focus is a guy that arguably fits neither category. And so in all honesty, it will probably never sell. He¡¯s not some immigrant with dreams so vast the end can¡¯t be seen and well as far as I can tell, he doesn''t reek of drugs and is no regular of anything resembling a bakery. I write this story mainly for myself. It¡¯s good practice. I aim to be a famous reporter someday. This might even serve as a submission to my publisher to reach better sights as a reporter but who knows if I¡¯ll actually turn it in. Perhaps you can give it a look.
Amidst the chaotic streets of the city of freedom: New York, there is an eerily quiet house on ablock of otherwise normal structures. At first glance, a sense of placelessness captivates you as even the color of the bricks are similar. Roof after roof, the shingles are red! The one unique feature is the door. All -but one- of the houses seem to have differing bright colored doors. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. I especially love the house next door with the deep forest green color. The door of interest is sadly faded though. The door only whispers a hit of a color I can¡¯t quite place. This has piqued my interest. I must know. What vibrant shade could have occupied the door? I can only ask. Stay curious, Signed Sarah Goodwin Lolita has requested a search for her lost tabby cat. Call animal services if you find her cat!
My burning curiosity and shyness battled it out until one day I eventually placed three hard knocks on the faded door. Anticlimactically, there was no answer. But as my teacher always said, ¡°Persistence is an admirable character trait in a reporter¡±. So now I begin my journey with anticipation to learn about the color of a door with no claims of real significance. I understand that but my, wouldn¡¯t you like to know as well? Don¡¯t answer that. However, there could be a story here. Tuesday Today is yet another day she dedicated her time for research on something related to my street. I hate to assume, but I think she might be stalking my neighbor. Never met the dude, but like, she¡¯s absolutely weird for that. That being said, she¡¯s so pretty. I find myself looking for her before I get on my bus for school. I think I developed a girl crush on her. Maybe when I become an adult I¡¯ll be blessed with the same confidence she effortlessly exudes. I¡¯ve get on my bus like any other morning for my ¡°priceless¡± education. It¡¯s gotten so repetitive. Like clockwork, my bus arrives exactly four minutes late to my stop. I get to school only to take the same seven classes from nine to four. Or at least this is how it usually goes for my monotonous days but today is a bit different. Nothing about my routine changed though. No, the bus didn¡¯t arrive early and to make it perfectly clear, I didn¡¯t miss my bus. This time, I simply caught a glimpse of the pretty lady getting out of her beetle from my bus! My regular Tuesday seems much brighter. She¡¯s so cool. Her beige overcoat is such a nice contrast to her auburn hair¡­ should I grow my hair out? I¡¯m lost in thought until I feel a tap on my shoulder. Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. ¡°Girl! Wake up, we¡¯re here! Come on Katie, let¡¯s get to class!¡± I immediately snap back to reality. What would I do without my best friend? Like, seriously, I wouldn¡¯t trade her for the world. She tells me about her stressful morning as we walk to class but my mind is still on let¡¯s call her ¡°June¡±. Don¡¯t get me wrong, I am still listening. She¡¯s talking about the same thing she mentioned yesterday about her siblings. And quite frankly, I agree with her. She shouldn¡¯t have to fight for a spot in the restroom so early in the morning. However, I¡¯m still a little flustered. June¡¯s outfit could¡¯ve been in a magazine and I wouldn¡¯t have looked twice. Is it ¡°je ne sais quoi¡±? She¡¯s absolutely breathtaking. I can¡¯t help but stare. I hope I''m not too obvious. I wonder if she works out. I¡¯m on the track team and all, but I might¡¯ve just lost when it came to the gene pool. Welp, no point crying over spilled milk. Fine Wine For the past fifteen years, I¡¯ve driven a mustard yellow brick of a bus. She¡¯s not pretty, but I¡¯d say it¡¯s reliable enough. There¡¯s a reason these school buses have yet to fail me to this day. Of course that gig alone can¡¯t pay for the bills. This is what a youngster would say. I¡¯d bet money on it. They¡¯d be absolutely right in this economy, but I¡¯ve already dedicated 30 long years to a thankless job of pushing dietary pills at an evil company. Money isn¡¯t tight. It isn¡¯t, but I get restless if I¡¯m not doing something. At night, I work as a manager at a mom and pop pizza shop. I do recall the doctor saying to take it easy but retirement couldn¡¯t have been more boring! Besides, I lived a good life. My lovely wife passed away two decades ago so it has been terribly quiet at the house. I never knew silence could be so deafening. I wouldn¡¯t wish it upon my worst enemy. I''m convinced loneliness can kill. Anyhow, how would the current generation put it? I¡¯m here for a fun time, not a long time. If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Army Siblings are single handedly the greatest blessing and the worst curse ever given to me. I have ten of them (it¡¯s practically an army). I think three of them were planned? Anyway, they are your designated friend growing up in the house no matter how you feel about them. That¡¯s a story for another time. I love them, don''t get me wrong, but I need a breather right about now. Something about personal space is a foreign concept to the younger ones. So why is my bff daydreaming during my rant? I need this girl to lock in and listen. I¡¯m not saying she should take notes but wow, she is hot. I just noticed who she¡¯s staring at. Definitely too old though. We¡¯re only highschoolers. Minors at that. Maybe stay away? Katie¡¯s stubborn though. I guess I¡¯ll just have to wait until she loses interest. You know what''s funny? I don''t think Katie herself is aware that she''s gay. This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. I can almost see tangible hearts in her eyes. My friend can be a hopeless romantic and though I love that about her, it can get a little tedious. We¡¯ve got a yin and yang thing going on but as besties of course. She sees the world with rose tinted glasses. And I, with shades. When I¡¯m too cynical, she gives me a hug and I tolerate it. When she¡¯s about to get in a stranger¡¯s car, I tug her away. She¡¯s a little too trusting. The world isn¡¯t sunshine and rainbows. There could be a school shooting or a reckless/drunk driver. Heck, I heard you could die from a flower pot falling on your head. It¡¯s wild to think about, but I hear it¡¯s happened before. We eventually got to school. I do my ¡°civic¡± duty of walking my friend to class. We take the same class so it¡¯s no trouble. Don¡¯t you just love taking physics so bright and early? That¡¯s sarcasm if you couldn¡¯t tell. Was it Biege? What I¡¯m about to reveal to you may change how you view me but it¡¯s no matter. A reporter¡¯s reputation wasn¡¯t always sterling anyway. I just hope that you come to agree with me when I share my hypothesis after I present the facts I find to you. For the past year and a half, I¡¯ve occasionally checked on that house. At first glance, there really was nothing unique besides the faded door but patience revealed otherwise. It¡¯s become somewhat of a routine in my newly busy life. Quick celebratory update, I was given a promotion and now cover slightly bigger stories! I no longer have to go on coffee runs for others. But just because I cover bigger stories now doesn''t mean I have to let this particular story go. Placelessness was no new thing and the house¡¯s faded door was nothing but a faded door. This is indisputable. Everything looked tidy enough to the public but I wasn''t satisfied. Besides the unchecked newsletter, there was no tangible evidence indicative of any foul play. Everything screamed normal. This was, of course, was at first glance. But now I grow weary as I¡¯ve come to find a weird circumstance regarding that house. Every other house has people running in and out of their houses at differing times but there was never any movement coming from what, at first, I perceived like everyone else to be a ¡°normal¡± house. What started as a quest to figure out what color the door originally was has become something else entirely. To what exactly, I''m not sure yet. It¡¯s been a year and a half but I¡¯ve yet to see anyone enter or leave that house. Isn¡¯t that just odd? Not during morning rush, when children go to school and others to work, and not in the afternoon when many people return to their homes, was there any movement. So, I¡¯ve grown curious about the individual that occupies that living space if there even is one. It¡¯s an occupational hazard. Let¡¯s leave it at that. During my research, I¡¯ve grown close to some of the neighbors. None of them seem to agree about who actually owns the house. Some say it¡¯s a little girl but this makes no sense. Perhaps it''s a senseless practical joke. Others say they saw a big blurry man walk into the house one morning but have no idea as to whom the real owner is. All they can agree on is the fact that the lights turn on at random points of time in that house at later hours so someone could be living there but no one is curious beyond that. They¡¯re too busy with their own lives. That¡¯s fair, but I, personally, will never understand it. Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. No closer than I was a year ago, once again I take another deep breath of that nice and cool, and crisp air as I prepare myself for yet another busy day. I grab a protein bar, an apple, and a bag of pistachios then head to my car. I get in that reliable bug of mine and drive through what surely is a nightmare for those directionless folk who seem to get lost even in the simplest of places. Honestly, I, myself, find directions confusing at times so it¡¯s nothing short of a miracle I haven¡¯t gotten lost already. It cracks me up when I think about it sometimes. Once I get there, I sit outside a random residence a couple houses down from the target place for thirty minutes and eat my pistachios. Nothing happens. Like, always, nothing happened. I was disappointed but not surprised. I drive down to the station to clock in for work. What another beautiful day. Wednesday It¡¯s been about half a year since my graduation ceremony. After I did my walk and received my diploma, I successfully became an adult. There have been a couple changes but that all had to do with my surroundings. I thought I¡¯d feel different as an adult but nothing noticeably changed on the inside. Fortunately, I still don¡¯t have to shoulder every responsibility as a ¡°proper¡± adult quite yet. My parents are gracious enough to let me stay with them until I find myself on my feet. They spoil me because I''m their only child. That being said, there¡¯s still a lingering feeling of disappointment. Perhaps I get a little tired more easily. There¡¯s not much else. Oh, there is a lot more to worry about! Is that really the prize of becoming an adult? I don¡¯t know, perhaps the good parts will take some time to become apparent. I eventually got a part time job as an assistant for the local news report station while I went to college part time. It¡¯s nothing crazy, I mostly go on coffee runs and take notes for the other seniors. I figured I¡¯d try to support myself like my friend. Though she took it a step further and took the year off to work full-time. She successfully moved out of her house and into her own studio apartment. I can¡¯t begin to express how proud of her I am. She¡¯s so cool. I¡¯ve always respected her but this is a new level. I know she felt cramped growing up in her house. I¡¯m sure she¡¯s feeling nothing but relief to have her own space now. Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. I make sure to visit during my free time to offer her company as her official best friend but being a considerate adult, I also try to give her space as I¡¯m sure she likes her newfound silence. She earned it!