Have you ever thought about what fiction is? Probably, such a question may seem surprising: and so everything is clear. Every person throughout his life has to repeatedly create the works he needs for specific purposes - statements, autobiographies, dictations - using not gypsum or clay, not musical notes, not paints, but just a word. At the same time, almost every person will be very surprised if he is told that he thereby created a work of fiction, which is very different from visual art, music and sculpture making. However, everyone understands that a student's essay or dictation is fundamentally different from novels, short stories, news that are created by professional writers. In the works of professionals there is the most important difference - excogitation. But, oddly enough, in a school literature course, you don’t realize the full power of fiction. So using our website in your free time discover fiction for yourself. The Girl on the Swing by Rachel (english novels to read txt) 📖
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was not an option I settled for reading a book with the assistance of the moon and my phone. I picked up my book from the floor next to my bed and removed the bookmark. Just before I began reading I got up and closed my window, locking it tight and returning to my bed. Then, feeling annoyed with myself for getting so worked up I got back up and reopened it allowing the night air to come in with a whoosh. I tried to read but couldn’t focus and eventually came to the conclusion that the waking birds outside were keeping me awake and the only logical solution would be to close my window. After taking care of that I laid back down and made a set decision that I was not to get out of this bed or let anything distract or bother me until day was here.
Morning couldn’t come soon enough and in my entire hour and a half of reading I only turned the page once. Oh well, it was time to get up and put the night’s events behind me. Then I remembered my plan. Okay, so I would put them behind me write after checking out the yard.
After throwing on a pair of old jean shorts and a tank top I hurried downstairs and almost collided with my mom who was dancing around the kitchen listening to 80s music while she cooked scrambled eggs on the stove. I gasped and dove out of the way in an attempt avoid get rained on by her glass of milk and was just barely safe.
“Mom!”
“Good morning, Sweetheart! Did you sleep well?”
“What do you think?” I growled as I pushed my way past her and into the front foyer. The front foyer consisted of four main things: a door leading to the West Wing, a door leading to the East Wing, a door leading straight back into the middle section of the house (that was the door I entered through just now) and a large, grand staircase that took to up to the second and third levels of the house. The third level only existed in the middle section because it was taller than the other two wings. I hadn’t been on the third floor yet, or anywhere in the East Wing and unlike all the other times I passed through the foyer I was anxious to explore the rest of my new home. I shook my head to refocus and spinning on my heel I exited through the front door, noticing that it swung much more easily now that the hinges had been greased. I also observed that the porch steps had been rebuilt with quality, stable boards and I could safely use all three of them without the risk of falling down. I realized just how hard my mom had been working the past few days.
Circling the house I stepped into the back yard for my first time and for once the swing was still. I scanned the empty yard and walked over to the outside of the bathroom window. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for but whatever it was it wasn’t there. I walked over to the swing set and turned, ready to sit down on the swing. Right as I sat a small gust of window breezed through the air sending the swing out from under me and I landed with a painful thump on the hard ground. I looked behind me just in time for the swing to come back and slam me in the face.
I crawled on my hands and knees away from the awful swing while holding my forehead. It wasn’t bleeding but a lump was already forming and I knew that it would definitely be black and blue in hours. Laying on the ground I fought tears, it was the same fight I had been fighting since….that night. After a few minutes I gave in and sobbed in a curled up ball on the hard ground as the yellow grass pricked and scratched at my skin. I felt that the tears could fall endlessly but I quickly fought to regain control over myself and soon I was wiping tears while aimlessly walking across the yard. I came to the edge where the tall grass, weeds, and trees started when something caught my eye. I turned and walked towards it, staying in the yard for as long as possible until I had to enter the woods to get closer. I found myself standing in the middle of the cemetery that I had seen the first day we arrived.
Most of the headstones were simple. Grey squares of rock with names and dates carved in, but a few were more elegant, larger statues of different animals and shapes. There was a beautiful angel that I walked over to. Brushing the moss off of the words engraved on the angel’s stomach I read what was written.
Madeline Rosemary Jamine
1899-1905
Imprint
Morning couldn’t come soon enough and in my entire hour and a half of reading I only turned the page once. Oh well, it was time to get up and put the night’s events behind me. Then I remembered my plan. Okay, so I would put them behind me write after checking out the yard.
After throwing on a pair of old jean shorts and a tank top I hurried downstairs and almost collided with my mom who was dancing around the kitchen listening to 80s music while she cooked scrambled eggs on the stove. I gasped and dove out of the way in an attempt avoid get rained on by her glass of milk and was just barely safe.
“Mom!”
“Good morning, Sweetheart! Did you sleep well?”
“What do you think?” I growled as I pushed my way past her and into the front foyer. The front foyer consisted of four main things: a door leading to the West Wing, a door leading to the East Wing, a door leading straight back into the middle section of the house (that was the door I entered through just now) and a large, grand staircase that took to up to the second and third levels of the house. The third level only existed in the middle section because it was taller than the other two wings. I hadn’t been on the third floor yet, or anywhere in the East Wing and unlike all the other times I passed through the foyer I was anxious to explore the rest of my new home. I shook my head to refocus and spinning on my heel I exited through the front door, noticing that it swung much more easily now that the hinges had been greased. I also observed that the porch steps had been rebuilt with quality, stable boards and I could safely use all three of them without the risk of falling down. I realized just how hard my mom had been working the past few days.
Circling the house I stepped into the back yard for my first time and for once the swing was still. I scanned the empty yard and walked over to the outside of the bathroom window. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for but whatever it was it wasn’t there. I walked over to the swing set and turned, ready to sit down on the swing. Right as I sat a small gust of window breezed through the air sending the swing out from under me and I landed with a painful thump on the hard ground. I looked behind me just in time for the swing to come back and slam me in the face.
I crawled on my hands and knees away from the awful swing while holding my forehead. It wasn’t bleeding but a lump was already forming and I knew that it would definitely be black and blue in hours. Laying on the ground I fought tears, it was the same fight I had been fighting since….that night. After a few minutes I gave in and sobbed in a curled up ball on the hard ground as the yellow grass pricked and scratched at my skin. I felt that the tears could fall endlessly but I quickly fought to regain control over myself and soon I was wiping tears while aimlessly walking across the yard. I came to the edge where the tall grass, weeds, and trees started when something caught my eye. I turned and walked towards it, staying in the yard for as long as possible until I had to enter the woods to get closer. I found myself standing in the middle of the cemetery that I had seen the first day we arrived.
Most of the headstones were simple. Grey squares of rock with names and dates carved in, but a few were more elegant, larger statues of different animals and shapes. There was a beautiful angel that I walked over to. Brushing the moss off of the words engraved on the angel’s stomach I read what was written.
Madeline Rosemary Jamine
1899-1905
Imprint
Text: Me!-So please don't steal it, that would make me sad
Publication Date: 06-24-2012
All Rights Reserved
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