Creative Writing: Behind the Red Door

Shona called from the bottom of the stairs "I will be late for Brian and go to school." "How does God relate to this sleep with his sleep," she laughed when she returned to the kitchen. The wallpaper began to peel off, the door of the cabinet was not flat, all the machinery was rusted, so it will not work unless you touch it. "This kitchen needs to change from head to toe." She yelled at trying to paste the bread on the toaster.

Finally, he heard his name, echoed from the door and at the venue. Every boy behind him knows that his time is rising. He went to the kitchen and closed the door behind. There are more than a dozen red roses with broken stems dotted on the tiled floor. Some petals fell from the flowers, they are stepped on and bent, but they are still fresh. A faint red stripe can etch itself on the floor and permanently etch the floor. The man stood at the edge of the kitchen leaning against the door of the stormy basement as if to keep a secret. He checked boys' shoes, trousers, shirts, jackets, smoothed their faces, smoothed their hair, and studied boys without moving. He saw the boy fit in his pocket, and he saw his eyes flying around the room. That man wants to know if the boy is really going to be a man.

Okay, I am years old. Almost two years ago, I walked through a red door and saw a small signboard telling the dance studio. I already opened the door. Behind it is a large ballroom where two people rotate the floor in each other 's arms. In order to interrupt them, I began to apologize. They waved to me and started my dance adventure. I applied for a ballroom class that day. My tutor has three months of enthusiastic and exciting time, but much of what he asked me to do is difficult to exceed my ability. These young teachers show a wonderful trip and trip of a very painful everyday life when you want to be graceful and skilled soon.