The rewrite they made me do
Our kingdom had two major problems, number one; it had an increase in contraband goods and gang violence. Number two, I was about to be late for dinner. As I rushed home through the cobbled streets, I realised no one seemed to pay attention to the daily violence.
Instead, they continued their business as usual while others snuck in more contraband than ever, such as weapons, drugs, and stolen goods. I wish the guards would do something to fix this problem. I realise it's not a military problem, but the kingdom would crumble if the violence ensued.
As I reached my front door, I could hear my dad and my older brother Wilbur in a heated argument. They were attempting to make something; I wondered if it was dessert or dinner. I opened the door to see the kitchen covered in flour and eggs. As I trekked into the house, my dad and brother turned to face me.
"It's not what it looks like!" They both shouted in unison. I glared at them as I began to take my boots and jacket off, and they were soaked. I sighed knowing they would need to be dried for the next day.
"What were you even trying to do here?" I asked them as I walked into the kitchen.
"Uh, baking, obviously" Wilbur rolled his eyes. He had a hint of sarcasm in his voice, so I grabbed a handful of flour and threw it at him. I told them to clean up their mess, backing out of the kitchen and grabbing some bread as I went.
My dad and Wilbur are dysfunctional when it comes to cooking. It doesn't help that they've been arguing about the contraband. My dad doesn't believe it's a problem, while my brother and I take it seriously since it became a significant issue.
My dad has been listening to rumours in the shops, such as 'it's all fake to try and scare people into building and making a safer community'. It may not be the best option to scare people into being productive; plus, no one here seems scared.
Crime rates have doubled since last winter, such as aggravated assault, robbery, forgery, and extortion. These crimes haven't been without punishment; they've just been getting caught less because the guards are distracted with who knows what.
I sprinted up the stairs tripping over the last step as I went. I face-planted into the floor with a thud dropping my bread. I could hear my brother laughing and my father telling me to stop running up the stairs.
I picked myself up, dusted myself off and grabbed my bread. Our floors were relatively clean, so I wasn't worried about germs on my food. I continued through the hallway, looking at how the paint had begun peeling away and showing the layers of wallpaper beneath. The peeling only occurred around the bookshelves and paintings nailed into the walls.
The sun had begun to set, casting a warm glow throughout the house. As I stepped into my room, I was met with a mosaic of colourful patterns dancing across my walls. My father's brother, my Uncle Brian, had stained glass installed throughout the summer of last year.
Almost every room on the second floor has a stained glass piece. There's one in my father's room in a forest during fall with mixes of dull and bright oranges in the trees and a dark forest floor. The stained glass in Wilbur's room is of a dark, overgrown forest with wildlife as light pokes through the trees. Mine was a mixed pattern of rainbow glass.
Our Uncle hasn't visited in a while, but I expect he'll be here for Christmas next month. Unlike my father, my Uncle believed that we should deal with any illegal issues no matter how big of a problem they were. He's been enlisted in the military since I was born.
I entered my room, smelling the vanilla from the candles I had left burning. I always get told I will burn down the house by leaving them burning, but it hasn't happened yet. I sat at my desk and grabbed a fresh candle from my desk drawer. This one was orange scented.
I put out my vanilla candle, which had been burned to its limit, and tossed it into my trash bin. I put the new candle in place and pulled out a box of matches from my drawer. I struck the match and lit the candle; soon enough, my room smelled like orange and vanilla.
Once I had lit the candle, I walked over to one of my bookshelves and picked up a book called "The Adventures of Tom Sawyer". I'm still determining what it's about, but I know my brother has the sequel, which I will borrow if I find the first book enjoyable.
Half an hour later, I heard my father call my brother and me down for dinner. I folded over the corner of my reading page and put the book on my table. I quickly blew out my candles and raced my brother down the stairs. As we ran down the last few stairs, I stuck my foot out, tripping my brother.
It was pretty funny to watch him crash into the floor. I walked into the kitchen laughing as Wilbur picked himself off the floor and dusted himself off. "Why are these floors so dusty?" He complained as he walked to the table.
"I don't know. Maybe because it's your job to clean them?" My dad laughed at my response as Wilbur glared at me. I grabbed a plate from the table and began serving the food. My brother followed shortly after. My dad was already halfway through serving as I started walking back to my room with my food.
"No, you don't," My dad said as I began walking to the stairs. "We're having dinner at the table tonight." Wilbur and I looked at him in confusion. Normally, everyone would eat in their rooms.
"Why can't we go to our rooms?" My brother asked him as I started sneaking up the stairs. Suddenly the door busted open, and a massive pile of snow fell into the house. My Uncle walked in through the door tracking in more snow with him. My brother and I put down our plates and rushed to hug him.
My Uncle laughed as my brother stumbled before reaching the front door. I hugged my Uncle as my dad stood up to greet his brother. My Uncle picked my brother off the floor and carried him to the table. I stared in amazement, knowing my brother was around six foot and weighed well over 200 pounds.
My Uncle approached my dad, setting Wilbur down in a chair. My dad and Uncle shook hands before sitting down. The room felt suffocating like you could cut the tension with a knife.
Dinner continued without any conversation besides the occasional 'pass the salt'. My dad and Uncle stared at each other without saying anything. My dad started talking about how contraband issues weren't real, and of course, my Uncle had something to say about it. Eventually, an argument broke out.
My brother joined the argument, raising his voice at our dad. I had to break up the fight, yelling at them to stop and telling them that politics didn't matter more than being a family and that minor disagreements shouldn't lead to big arguments. Wilbur agreed with me and apologised for losing his temper. My dad and Uncle looked at us with remorse and apologised shortly after.
Tonight would not be a night where politics drove my family apart, and I would make sure of it. We learned that contraband and gang violence were not our problems as long as we were alive and had each other. Of course, we still have opinions, but we don't need to fight about it any more.
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