The new family that just moved into the magnificent house adjacent to ours are eerily strange. Wailing out of key broken violin screams alight the nights since they have occupied their newly painted pink polka-dotted mansion with dusty black windows. It looks like they are from a clown dynasty. Sour milk and rotten onion odors seep out of what must be their kitchen, finding its way to interrogate my sensitive nostrils. After the "Wackos", as every one calls them, moved in, gossip about them quickly began to germinate like vines with an overdose of fertilizer.
Their faces, so pale with mile thick glasses, cracked lips, crooked teeth and vicious, long finger nails is how I imagine their appearance. Their house, as pink and as odd as it is on the outside, must have renovations on the inside that are spine-chillingly creepy as well. Dangerously hung chandeliers in barren rooms, booby traps and trip wires, with victims of crimes hung from their feet by ropes from red ceilings full of constellations and war scenes. As I fall asleep, the everlasting rhythm of trickling water, drip drip, from my broken faucet drives me out of bed. When I hop out of bed to stop the interminable annoyance of the water droplets, I hear an unthinkable noise, a genuine laugh from the house, the new families house! A laugh so true and joyous, one that insinuates such happiness that I suddenly feel an urge to meet this family. A foretaste that our first encounter won't be so bad.
Once frightened by the fact of meeting these people, I am strangely excited enough to disrupt my own sleep and greet them with a fresh baked pie. My baking résumé is Hall of Fame quality. I hurtle myself down the stairs, to the pantry to collect ingredients for my special recipe for bourbon pecan pie. Bang! I stub my toe on the edge of my table, I guess that's recompense for judging them so much. This pie cannot be any regular humdrum pie. This meeting must not be trivial, we will potentially be great friends and neighbors. As I walk up to the front door, the sour milk and rotten onion smell over power my magnificent pie, I get nervous again, my steps get sullen, and my heart starts pounding out of control. Will we ever need a truce between us?
This creative writing was based on the 20 vocabulary words of the week. It is a 20 sentence story using one vocabulary word per sentence.
adjacent, alight, dynasty, interrogate, germinate, vicious, renovations, barren, trickling, interminable, insinuates, foretaste, disrupt, résumé, hurtle, recompense, humdrum, trivial, sullen, truce.
