I was already exhuasted by the essay. This time, I just write a short story. It's a true story and I am still so sorry recalling that evening.
Father's birthday
Like every Thursday, I talked about how I played soccer on the dinner table. However, father was not so excited to my story this time. After dinner, I went on chatting on Face book: My friends stayed on the web everyday and their party never ended.
Walking out of my room, I found that the house was dark and quiet: mother had gone to sleep and I didn't know where father was. He was not at home, but where, so late? I worried. Had no more interest to continue the nonsense chat, I shut up the computer. There was sound in the key hole: he came back, with a bag of peanuts and a bottle of wine in hand which he put on the end table, and sat down.
The lights were off. The moonlight shed in, putting my father's lonely shade on the wall. I sat quietly on another sofa, listening to his chewing peanuts, the only sound in silence. I wondered what happened, but didn't dare to ask him. "You went our, father?" My voice was so weak that I couldn't hear it myself. He didn't hear me, but opened the bottle, and sipped the wine.
"I am 45 years old now, today." He said. I felt a strike in my head when I heard "today". "No one mentions it, nor does anyone remember." He murmured and picked another peanut. In my mind there was a battle. I was so high everyday, going here and there to everyone's birthday parties, making every effort to ingratiate a new girl friend, but let my own father sit sadly here. I wanted to destroy the web I wasted my days on, or find a place where I can hide forever, no dare see him... all ideas fighting each other when I looked at the ground like a frozen statue.
Mother got up. She too, was surprised. Knowing the situation, she apologized softly for forgetting the important day. Father told his story intermittently. "Last year, I bought myself wine and drank, too; the year before last, I was on business." I saw the image time after time father sat lonely in the pale moonlight on a day which should have been so happy. At that moment, he was no longer a big and strong man, but a sad child.
Father finished the wine and went back to sleep. He told me to go back sleep, too, saying nothing more about the event. But I couldn't, staring at the white bed sheet in moonlight. I felt cold, even in hot mid-summer, recalling the gloomy night. I used to be a bystander since young seeing my parents quarreling, but father's figure crouching beside the table like a sad child tells me: no. I should not be the one who is only taken care of, who just "deserves" the family's resource and love, and shoulders nothing. I have the duty to look after my dad. In several years I might leave them, but I still use the precious years making fun with friends and sending messages with different girls. That's what an innocent boy does; I am already 17.
I thought about many things on that special birthday. I decided to change from then on. Before the clock strike 24p.m, I looked at my cell phone. It was July, 16th, 2009.
This one is short...but I am afraid it doesn't sound like an essay, because I wrote it in an hour, and do not want to revise, while the previous essay-I revised it for 9 times. So, please help me review this, thank you!
Father's birthday
Like every Thursday, I talked about how I played soccer on the dinner table. However, father was not so excited to my story this time. After dinner, I went on chatting on Face book: My friends stayed on the web everyday and their party never ended.
Walking out of my room, I found that the house was dark and quiet: mother had gone to sleep and I didn't know where father was. He was not at home, but where, so late? I worried. Had no more interest to continue the nonsense chat, I shut up the computer. There was sound in the key hole: he came back, with a bag of peanuts and a bottle of wine in hand which he put on the end table, and sat down.
The lights were off. The moonlight shed in, putting my father's lonely shade on the wall. I sat quietly on another sofa, listening to his chewing peanuts, the only sound in silence. I wondered what happened, but didn't dare to ask him. "You went our, father?" My voice was so weak that I couldn't hear it myself. He didn't hear me, but opened the bottle, and sipped the wine.
"I am 45 years old now, today." He said. I felt a strike in my head when I heard "today". "No one mentions it, nor does anyone remember." He murmured and picked another peanut. In my mind there was a battle. I was so high everyday, going here and there to everyone's birthday parties, making every effort to ingratiate a new girl friend, but let my own father sit sadly here. I wanted to destroy the web I wasted my days on, or find a place where I can hide forever, no dare see him... all ideas fighting each other when I looked at the ground like a frozen statue.
Mother got up. She too, was surprised. Knowing the situation, she apologized softly for forgetting the important day. Father told his story intermittently. "Last year, I bought myself wine and drank, too; the year before last, I was on business." I saw the image time after time father sat lonely in the pale moonlight on a day which should have been so happy. At that moment, he was no longer a big and strong man, but a sad child.
Father finished the wine and went back to sleep. He told me to go back sleep, too, saying nothing more about the event. But I couldn't, staring at the white bed sheet in moonlight. I felt cold, even in hot mid-summer, recalling the gloomy night. I used to be a bystander since young seeing my parents quarreling, but father's figure crouching beside the table like a sad child tells me: no. I should not be the one who is only taken care of, who just "deserves" the family's resource and love, and shoulders nothing. I have the duty to look after my dad. In several years I might leave them, but I still use the precious years making fun with friends and sending messages with different girls. That's what an innocent boy does; I am already 17.
I thought about many things on that special birthday. I decided to change from then on. Before the clock strike 24p.m, I looked at my cell phone. It was July, 16th, 2009.
This one is short...but I am afraid it doesn't sound like an essay, because I wrote it in an hour, and do not want to revise, while the previous essay-I revised it for 9 times. So, please help me review this, thank you!
