Isabella Swenson

United States

I repeatedly read Harry Potter, Narnia, Percy Jackson, Heroes of Olympus, Trials of Apollo, Laura Ingalls, or Anne of Green Gables. When I'm not reading, I’m writing, grudgingly doing some homework, singing, playing the piano, or my flute.

Blue Eyes

December 23, 2018

It's the first Christmas she'll have memories to look over later on. It's the first year she'll remember baking with her mother, going on snowy walks with her tall, rosy-cheeked brother, and going to get the Christmas tree with her father. She cries when he cuts it down- Why'd you do that, Daddy, why'd you kill it?- but is quite consoled once the tree had been brought home and decorated. Her father holds her up, and she puts the gold, five-pointed star on top of the fresh-scented tree. Her eyes, blue as the sky on a new spring day, shine with wonder at it all. 


It's the only Christmas she wants to forget. She's aged, but sadly, so has everyone else; Her mother's cough is bad, she doesn't want to bake, and besides, she has work to do, and don't you have some homework, young lady? Her brother is out with his friends, laughing loudly at crude jokes and dumping half-empty bottles onto the ground and staining the snow. Not that there's much of it this year. And Dad isn't feeling festive, either, he's groaning about his recently cut pay, his aching back, the blasted cold. His daughter puts up the tree on her own this year. But Dad wanted to help, apparently. Blast it, why'd you go and do the tree without me, wasn't that our thing-? The star, the old gold star with five points, is falling now. It hits the floor, shatters. Her eyes, blue as the rain that is falling outside, are also as wet as it. 


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