“Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day
You fritter and waste the hours in an off hand way
Kicking around on a piece of ground in your home town
Waiting for someone or something to show you the way”
She stepped into the creaky, aged house. Many years of abandon and decay had changed the once warm and welcoming abode into an much more dilapidated one than what she remembered from her childhood. Made of white wood, the rather large house fit in much with the rest of the neighborhood, a some what of a sanctuary of historical homes all set for demolition the next day. One more time in the setting of her childhood was what she needed before it would all disappear before her very eyes.
She stepped into the living room, the floor beneath her creaking with each and every step. A sense of nostalgia rushed over her in exceeding force at every memorable sight and wonder still intact. After making her way upstairs, there was one more room she needed to see. She gently pushed open the door and revealed a room painted in bright pink with horse and ponies spread out in a border across the wall. Any young girls dream.
Opening the drawer of a dresser, an object caught her eye. She picked it and pulled it out of the drawer, blowing the dust off of it. It was an old photo album. Hundreds of memories were all stored in this single book. She opened it up to the first page, another wave of nostalgia coming over her. The first picture portrayed a young girl around the age of eight, sitting on a park bench with an ice cream cone. Bits of strawberry ice cream plastered her face and stained her shirt. My what a cute little girl, she thought gazing at her cherry red cheeks and long, flowing brown hair.
The picture brought her back to happier times and times and love and caring. The album still open, she wandered through her mind and remembered.
It had all started many years ago. Hannah was a young brunette girl, just seven years old. Her and and her father lived and a small house together in Flint, Michigan. What hard times those were, her father had to work three jobs and couldn't keep bread on the table. As for her mother, cancer had claimed her life just last year. Death was concept Hannah still had yet to grasp but all she knew was that she would never see her mother again. After her mother's death, Hannah and her father moved out of their old town and into Flint, Michigan to live with her Uncle Peter. Peter, a selfish bastard that didn't deserve to have it as good as he did, did not take kindly to helping his brother out financially and left his brother and niece alone in Flint. She hated her new home and the town. She missed her mother and her old and house and all of her old friends. She had left so much behind back home it was hard to think about it. She still remembered her first day of school. Everything was so new and different and she didn't know any of the kids. When she walking into her class room the teacher announced her presence: "Class we have a new student today. Everybody say 'Hello Hannah.'" "Hello Hannah," said the class in unison, somewhat lethargically and half-hearted. The teacher made her stand in front of the class and knot twisted up in her stomach. She felt like she was going to cry any minute. "Hannah, why don't you tell the class a little about your self?" "Uh… I… I…" was all she managed to squeak out when suddenly a puddle began to form on the floor beneath her. A warm wetness soaked her panties and pants. "Hey she's wetting her pants!" one boy yelled out and the others around him burst out laughing. Hannah burst out of the room crying at that very moment leaving the teacher in a state of shock. She ran down the hallway with no intent on stopping until the reached the doorway out of the school. A voice called out to her to stop. Hannah turned around and shouted between her sobs, "why should I?" "Because I want to talk to you," the voice replied as the teacher came running after her. "Hannah I know being in a new school is tough but I'm sure you'll make some new friends quicker than you think. It could be just like your old school back in Denver." "Really?" Hannah sobbed. "Yes. I'll be here if you ever have a problem and I'll make sure none of those kids ever make fun of you." The teacher was a well-built, tall man with sandy blond hair. He seemed like a nice guy and someone you could trust. "Now let's get you into some dry clothes and get you back to the classroom," he said leading Hannah down the hall. "Thank you sir," Hannah replied. "You can call me Mr. Anderson." School didn't seem as bad as she had thought after that. With a teacher like Mr. Anderson around, Hannah actually started to grow to like it.
The photos of the innocent little girl nearly brought a tear to her eye. They brought back memories of happier times than the darker ones that would secede them.
“Every year is getting shorter, never seem to find the time
Plans that either come to naught or half a page of scribbled lines
Hanging on in quiet desperation is the english way
The time is gone, the song is over, thought Id something more to say”[/i]