The Neighbors

I dug this up from the depths of my computer. I wrote this a while ago for some random English project, so if you have any feedback, I’d love to hear it.

Everyday we heard screaming coming from the neighbor’s house. At first, the high-pitch screams were frightening, but as the days past we grew used to the constant arguments flowing out of the house. The two people, Mrs. Robinson and Mr. Facet, had actually been divorced for a couple years, yet for some reason, both refused to leave the rotting shack they called home. While most of the houses on the street stood glamorously as a symbol of the wealth and success of their residents, the neighbor’s house seemed to stand out, losing all of its former prestige.

That is exactly why they fought; even though the house was visually not the greatest, it was still their home and neither wanted to leave their house. They attacked each other over who would gain possession of what, at the time, was their coliseum. And so it dragged on, each and every day they went off like an alarm clock. From 6:00 AM to 11:00 PM the two would argue any time they found themselves in the same room. Mrs. Robinson always claimed that Mr. Facet was the reason for the divorce so he deserved nothing, but at the same time, he had owned the house before she even stepped into his life. Finally, on a wet, spring evening in Late March, the tension peaked and reached frightening new levels. They yelled at each other like never before; the words flying out of their mouths were rhythmic, right in tune with the rain drops pounding down on the old roof of the house. The rain landed gently on my face as I lay out on my lawn, yet it seemed to have a unique ferocity as it pounded away at the rusty old house. I began to think, as I watched the shingles crack and drip with water, that maybe nature had had enough of their fighting and was trying to convey the message that neither deserved the house. Even the lifeless trees seemed to be scared of the house, they drooped as though they were hoping that one day they would be cared for again. Eventually, the state of natural tranquility was shattered as I heard a thunderous crash come from their house. As I turned my attention back to looking through the stained windows of their house, I saw Mrs. Robinson throw a lamp at her ex-husband. There was a brief moment between the point when the lamp made contact with Mr. Facet’s face and the ensuing events in which everything seemed to stop; it was the calm before the storm. Once again, I looked at my surroundings, and the flowers seemed to be a symbol of their lives, as although they were once beautiful, they had lost all of their appeal. I had never noticed until then that nature is actually living hand in hand with our personal lives. Once again, however, my moment of peace was interrupted as Mr. Facet charged out of the house and dragged himself over to his truck. As he began to climb into the driver’s seat, his eyes caught mine. Finally, after examining me for a few seconds, he began to awkwardly smile, showing the least bit of sanity. As the truck stumbled down the driveway, the final few petals on the dying flowers fell, and I realized that the blood around his left eye was not his own.

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