Yards
by Cody I., 8th grade writer
Black Oak Road is the road that curves up a hill that leads to my house. Grey concrete provides the parking for our cars. A red brick patio and porch walkway leads to the old, broken down bench on the right, which is entangled with the thorns and roses from the rose bush. When you pass that, you reach a bright blue door with a Welcome sign on it. Surrounding our backyard are gardens flourishing with flowers of every sort. On the right side, we have a giant, crystal-clear pond with a waterfall. I love my yards, but they are high maintenance.
Through the House
by Shaina, 8th grade writer
I was going through my living room. The piano--between the hallway and couch--was there, sitting untouched for days. On the couch was my Grandpa, like a snoring sculpture. The hallway was small but the most colorful place in the house; filled with pictures, paintings, and decorations, you would have more trouble finding an empty space. The kitchen is a mess, leftovers still filling the sink. Spilled water from the dog's bowl lies there, threatening to make someone slip. You could hear the roaring of the fridge. Past the kitchen, there is a door that leads to the backyard. Outside, the sky was a dark orange-purple.
