Creative Writing: Homeless Pancakes

It was 7:05am on a Thursday morning, when I had woken. I lied down in my bed gazing at the ceiling as my obnoxious alarmed screamed at me to get up and prepare for another day of school. I was beyond exhausted. It was November 17th. Thanksgiving break was just around the corner waiting for me to relax and get my mind off the prison we call school.

My teacher asked me my schedule, the papers I got in homeroom and she explained everything for me her voice comforted me. It was all my fault I didn’t bother to look at the papers and my schedule. I learned that it’s always worthy to follow directions. She told me to go to my second period. I got up and started walking to the door everyone’s eyes were on me with nervousness on one hand and fear on the other, I reached for the door knob.

Page 9… Later that day, Mom said the one thing I was hoping she wouldn’t. “Tomorrow, you will have to start at a new school.” I was really not looking forward to the next morning.

I was going back to school the next morning after missing nearly a week of school. “Goodnight.” Darry said as he turned off the lights. We started to be nicer to eachother and get along better since our argument, and I hope it stays this way. “Wake up kid you 're late.”

Audrey Petty uses “Late Night Chitlins with Momma” to express her own close bond with her mother and how it shaped her identity; this is expressed through the narrative style, the diction and syntax, the use of food as a metaphor, and the short story’s structure. Narratively this piece does an incredible job of making the reader feel personally invested in the story. The way Audrey Petty does this is through a multitude of techniques. The point of view is a first person omnipotent, allowing for a closer read to the narrator themselves; the narrative flow is akin to being told the story verbally instead of the traditional 3rd person omnipotence.

All of the other kids became silent and scared of Miss Fisher. On my way home I began thinking about how much I wanted to go to school earlier this morning. Now, I never want to go back. School is worse than I thought it would be. I thought of it as this fun place of learning and meeting new friends.

“Niyah, when you come in here for a second, please,” my mom said. “Oh no,” I thought. “It was only 8 o’clock in the morning! What could I have possibly done?” I washed my hands and went to my mom’s room.

“Run!” Yelled Mrs. Patterson. They got all the way to their wagon all the while they were carrying me. They put a bag over my head and put me in front of their wagons wheel. While they were doing that, Maggie was waking up Momma and Papa.

For someone who was so eager to get out of class I was the last one out. I felt a tap on my shoulder as I packed away the last of my belongings. I smiled and greeted the girl. “Is it true you’re in Black Student Union?” She asked.

The two of us chuckled and when Mr. Falk called us to the front, he told us that for the next few days, we would be cleaning up the area by picking up the tattered bits of food and such. Silas and I both groaned as he scolded us by saying the old ‘this will teach you the rules’ speech. Without another word, he dismissed the class and we all left the warm tent into the calm breezy village park. “So, Silas,” Tyler asked patting him on the back. “What was it this time?

Filled with vast paintings and wonderful little trinkets, you could say the home was almost like a dream. Little did I know, the dream had yet to begin. Sittin’ down for lunch, I took notice of the vast amount of foods scattered across the table. Each cordially made by the Finch’s maid, Cal.

The faint buzzing of an old street light in the distance was the only sound that filled the air. The loud dogs that paced yellow lawns and fenced in porches were deep asleep. It was as melancholy as it could get. My hand trembled, I looked down at the paper weapon clasped between my fingers. I lifted my hand and pressed the cold cigarette to my chapped lips, long ago accepting the fact that I 'd never remember the taste of his mouth, in the same way I didn 't remember the last time my life wasn 't anything more than a huge fucking shit show. With my other hand I clicked the lighter to life. The hot flickering flame danced in front of my watery ocean blue eyes, which were long dulled by all the loss and pain they 've been through. My eyes fell

Clay woke up to the loud, and obnoxious screeching of the alarm clock that rested on the floor next to his bed, he groaned in annoance at realization of consciousness, wishing sleeping felt longer.

Jack’s mom was calling him to come downstairs. Jack was in his room which was upstairs. But after his mom had said,”Come down now, It’s important.” When his mom said that Jack’s stomach churned. His mom was talking in a serious voice that filled him with fear.

I deliberately tried to believe that my eyes were tricking me, but in reality we were in a perilous situation. Distraught, I heard Mama’s calm and, placid voice turn to a rough cough. The house was on fire! Papa yelled to me. “Go to the meadow!