We had to right a short 'vignette' including at least 5 literary devices, written in the style of a certain author, proper writing conventions, and a clever title. This story was sort of thrown together. I got frustrated earlier because it wasn't working out, and this story is completely different from what I was aiming for, but writer's block struck again. /:
SO PLEASE, I NEED HELP WITH A TITLE!!! This is the story:
Wake up, it’s Christmas!
Instantly, I am up. My first thought is to panic, but then I realized it was only my siblings, and then I relaxed and lay back. They tugged on my arms, pulled the blankets away, begged me to come wake up Mama and Papa with them, because they want to open their presents already. I agree, and tell them to go downstairs, which they do with pleasure.
My warm blankets were on the floor, and I had promised them something. I stood up and left our room, walking to my parent’s bedroom. I woke them tentatively, even though Papa was snoring like a bear and Mama seemed as though she were in a coma. They grumbled something that I took for an answer, and I left for the downstairs.
The air seemed oddly silent, and the stairs did not groan in protest as they usually do, adding to the eeriness. I wondered what the problem was, but I instantly saw as I rounded the corner to face the tree.
Few presents were underneath the glittering icon, and my younger siblings stared at them incredulously.
Mama and Papa must be hiding them, says the youngest, and the older, wanting to believe his sister, nods.
It is like a grand adventure! he tells her, and they are excited again. But I know better. I had heard Papa telling Mama about the hard times the company had fallen on this season, and he was not sure about gifts for the children. Mama told him it would work out, which it obviously did not.
Soft thuds behind me alerted us to the new presence of our parents, and my siblings immediately sat down, clapping their hands, waiting for Mama and Papa to pass out the presents, as is tradition. I sat more slowly, feeling like an older woman. I swear I can feel my bones creak, as though whining in protest at the awful work I am making them do. No matter. They have been doing it for years, and will for many more.
Mama finally reaches the last gift, and hands it to me. She gave me a look that warned me to not say a word to my siblings, and I silently agree with her. I would have gladly given that present back and said, They need it more than me, but Papa would have protested and insisted I kept it.
By the end of the day, my siblings realized that they would not be getting anything else, and they were upset. Why were Mama and Papa being so unfair? They were good little children all year, and all they got were a couple of blocks and a book! I watched my parents, knowing they would tell my siblings eventually, but for now, they would have to make do with what they had.
Dinner was only a ham, and I helped Mama season it and bake it. She tried boiling potatoes, but they two we had were too old, and she threw them out. It hurt seeing the sadness in her eyes, and I helped all I could. I always do. Mama is the best person in the world, and nobody could even compete. Her and Papa try their best, and that is hard for a family with two young kids and an older teenage daughter growing up in a tiny apartment.
Sometimes life was hard, but we made up for it. If being a family is all we get, then we can do it. There is no greater reward.