Variation on a Theme example

It Had Been Raining For a Week....

IT HAD BEEN RAINING FOR A WEEK...
By Shianne Dansie

In this harsh, corrupt little town of ignorant people. I finally get on my retro blue bike, basket and all, to ride into the city as the sun begins to come through the clouds and pinnacle on the horizon. I had a monstrous time sneaking out of the house this morning. My underweight scrawny twig of a mother was already up rummaging around the house. She does this every morning whenever my dad and her fight. Once I got caught sneaking out, and well I don’t care to relate what happened to me to you at this time.

Syrupy rainbows like sweet dew drops melt dripping from behind the bountiful mountains ahead. Cloudbursts into serendipitous colors causing a tempest in my heart. Thump, Thump, Thump. Leaving this town, all the gloominess behind, the surroundings, the people, even the whole aura. Things are changing, rearranging. The roads, wet smelling of concrete and grass, the air dewy almost as if you could breathe in the moisture. Riding to the city in the morning is my favorite, the crude red brick houses flying by me being replaced with shimmering glass and shining metal. Why couldn’t I have born in the city? The smell of sweat, work, things at work practically oozed off the structures there.

Then I come upon it. My little blue mailbox, used, abused, and dented. Well it wasn’t really mine, but I liked to think it is, it made everything much more personal. Then again it’s romantic to think of all the love letters written carefully and delivered here to this very spot in haste. Then again, what about all the malicious things that must have passed through this metal portal.

The thoughts make my spine tingle, just like when fingernails go down a chalk board. Slowly I reach into my worn denim jeans and out of my pocket pull the letter. I hold it to my chest, give it a kiss, and watch it sink into the deep blue metal bin getting mixed in with other peoples taxes and magazine subscriptions.

I remember when my first letter arrived. The day after my mom and dad had had one of their worst fights. Three letters arrived for me actually, all on accident, a wonderful miracle of an accident. They had arrived in my little dandelion colored mail box which tilted sideways, it’s so crooked, just like everything in my little abhorred town. Yet, these letters where beautiful even with the chicken scratch lettering on the outsides of them. Worn, dirty, smelling of oranges, that’s how this journey all began. In a mailbox with words written on paper. They’ll never understand, my parents, my friends, that’s why I’m going to share this adventure with you. I hope you’ll understand, just listen to me carefully and hear me through. We’re going to be marvelous friends me and you. Maybe you’ll be good friends with Sunny, Raylen, and C.G.B. too.