Alex! Yays!
I mumbled my greetings to my parents as I made my way to my room. As soon as the door was closed, I kicked one of the legs of the frame of my bed. My entire bed jumped over a couple of inches.
"I feel so stupid!"
I clenched my fists, then forced myself to sit down and relax because I could feel my candle dimming.
I closed my eyes and remembered something from when I was younger—one of my teachers—or was it one of my babysitters?—told me to write out my anger because violence never solved anything.
As fast as I could, I found a pen and a notebook and sat down to writing. I wasn't angry—not really—just upset.
I started with, 'I found out she's leaving soon,' and went from there. An hour later, my pen was practically smoking and I'd filled about three pages with my tiny, illegible handwriting. As whoever-it-was told me, I felt a ton better, though still sick at heart, and my candle was burning brightly again.
Mom called me to dinner not long after I put the notebook and pen away.
Don't you love that he's a writer? You will if you don't yet. ^^
Please review! Especially you, mysterious third reader!
