I remember the day that I saw the mitt. That brown mitt in possession of my brother, Brian. He bought it in an old store in Fifth Avenue. It was very old but and was a little ripped out but he still liked it. It has beautiful poems written in green ink. I can memorize every single word of it. That left- handed glove brought back many memories. Like that time when we played in the backyard. My father, Brian, and I throwing the baseball in triangles. My father and I never wore gloves, but Brian did. It was very special in a way that I can’t explain in words. I still have it, somewhere in my room, and every time that I see it I remember of him. Every time he was in a baseball game he used to read the poems on the mitt. He usually played as a center fielder so he didn’t have as much action as a pitcher.
Boy, how I loved him. He was the nicest person you could ever meet. All the teachers always sent notes to my parents telling how good he was doing academically. Me, I was the misfortune of my family; I had never been the intelligent guy anyway. God, how I miss him. The day he died it didn’t go that well. I went into my garage and I slept there. I went crazy thinking about him. It killed me, and I started breaking all the windows in my garage. It was horrible, and my hand started to bleed. I was going to break all the windows in the station wagon that summer, but my hand was very hurt and I couldn’t do it. Since that day, my hand hurts once in a while and I can’t really do a real fist anymore, but that isn’t important. It was worth it.
Brian. That charming laugh he had was unmatchable. Sometimes he laughed so hard in the middle of dinner for something that he thought randomly. He was really nice. He was just too honest to have that red hair he had. They say that if you have red hair you get angry very easily but Brian wasn’t like that. He was too perfect to have that bad luck. And leukemia was even worst. If you ever have the misfortune of getting leukemia, you know that once you have that awful thing there is no way out. And he was only eleven years old. The mitt, the brown mitt.
Andres, your story is good and you did what you were supposed to but you made a error by putting "Like that time when we played in the backyard. Me, my father, and Brian throwing the baseball in triangles. I and my father didn’t use a mitt, but Brian did." you could change it to me, dad or something else, just sounds weird. and besides that you could write a little bit more, maybe describe more how painful it was when Brian died or something.
ReplyDeleteBTW: your last sentence is in a smaller font than the rest of the composition.
Andres, your composition was very good. I liked how you said all the descriptive things. If you read it again, maybe you could find some errors. And change the font of the last sentence.
ReplyDeleteGreat Story:)
ReplyDeleteI love how you made your story short but included lost of detail! In the third to last sencence in the 1st paraghaph you put " Since that they, my hand hurts once in a while..." It should be since that day,... so just change they for day and it will be perfect.