In English, we were assigned to create our very own short stories. A short story is a fictional piece of writing that is significantly shorter than a novel. It involves the stylistic skills that we learned in English, such as the need to include a clear introduction, rising conflict, climax, falling action, and resolution. Here is my original short story. Enjoy!

Torn

The refreshing, cool autumn wind and serene atmosphere of Ansel Avenue completely clashed with the heated steam sizzling off my furious head as I stormed down the concrete sidewalk. I could no longer stand the words coming out of my mother's mouth. Each word seemed to pierce through my heart, which made my blood pump faster and my head more prone to burst into flames. I had to leave the household, and grab a hold of myself.

Eventually, my stammer out the door turned into a soft stroll down the street. The pace of my heartbeat slowed down, and my face began to turn back to its natural shade of golden beige. Each gust of chilling wind acted as a medication, slowly curing my burning fury.
Further down the road, I noticed a fluttering piece of paper caught underneath a large stone. As I approached the piece of paper, I started to realize that it was a photograph. Curiously, I raised the rock from the dirt and pinched the tiny 2x3 photograph, bringing it to my face. The photograph seemed extremely trashed and worn out. Some of the image was missing, looking like it was torn completely in half. From what was remaining, there was a young girl smiling through the ink of the photograph. She had soft, sapphire eyes and blinding blond hair. The young girl looked ecstatic, like she had just received a pretty pink pony for Christmas. She was clinging onto another character, whom I did not know, for that part of the photo was torn off. My mind started to wonder, "who is this girl so happily clinging onto?"

Suddenly, little flesh particles of my skin started to detatch from my face and dissolve into the faded ink of the torn photograph. I felt my face fall into the picture and my essence started to disappear.
A blurry figure started to take form within my depth of vision. With each blink the figure started turning into a teenage girl with sapphire eyes and bleach blond hair.

"Why do you always assume things about me, Mom?! Why can't you just trust me?"
"Honey, it's not you I don't trust, it's other people I don't trust. You can't go tonight and that's it."
"This is ridiculous. You will never let me go, will you?"
"Don't talk back at me. A "no" is a "no","

Suddenly, the sapphire-eyed girl took out a wallet from her leather purse and struggled to yank out a small picture from the clear, tight pocket. She held it in front of her face, with the ink facing her mother. With a slight pause, she slowly began to rip the photo into two pieces and with that, I was back staring at the torn photo of the young and lively blond-haired girl.
In that somber and reflective moment, I turned around and started making my way back home.