Random Story

Instructions

Genevieve set down her rose-pink suitcase on the front porch of the farmhouse. The wind caught her caramel-colored hair, making it blow across her face. She pushed it behind her ear, and let her thoughts run back to her. After turning 15 her parents and sister died in an accident and Genevieve was sent to an uncle she had never met. She took a deep breath before turning the rusty doorknob. The door creaked as Genevieve pushed it open, "Hello?" she called. She took a step inside, it was dark in the house, and everything was covered in a thin layer of dust. "Who's there?" A gruff voice answers her, making Genevieve jump. A man stumbles through the doorway, holding a glass cup. He had a wrinkled plaid shirt on and well-worn jeans, his face was unshaven and dirty, but his piercing blue eyes met hers. "You James' kid?" he asked. Genevieve's thoughts were exploding inside her head, "Um... Yeah that's me." she said with a nervous smile. Her uncle motioned toward the stairs, "Your rooms up there, second door to the left." He said, then he turned and stumbled out of the room. Genevieve looked around the dusty room once more before shuffling up the stairs, carrying her duffel bag in one arm and suitcase in the other. Once she reached the top, she went directly to the room that would now be hers. The walls were painted a dusty pastel blue, and the paint was just beginning to chip off near the corners. There was a small twin-sized bed in one corner, fitted with matching pastel blankets and sheets, and a small desk in the other. In the room, there were two doors next to each other, one a bathroom, and one a closet. Genevieve set her bags down before collapsing onto the bed. Everything here was so different from home. How would she ever be able to feel normal in a weird place like this? --------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Genevieve's dream life wasn't much better than her normal life. Memories of the accident came flooding back, but just in little bits and pieces. The screeching of tires. The feel of glass shattering across her face and hands. The screams of Genevieve's family as they were torn from their seats. And then the deathly silence that had followed before sirens could be heard.