My Home is Like...

When I first wake up everything is new, and then as quick as lightning everything is old. When I wake up, I can see my book, “Slacker,” my pitch black and majestic blue glasses, the old cream faded blue striped pillow with no cover. I can also see Japgun, my brother who is sleeping in a red blanket. As usual, I check the analog clock on my wall, and it shows me it is 6:30am. I decide to “waste” it. I spend fifteen minutes trying to sleep inside an orange blanket. It’s as cozy as a panda’s fur and as warm as a heater that just turned on and as fluffy as a newborn kitten’s fur. Now at about 7:00 I spring out of bed with more energy than a light bulb, but then just like that it leaves me. I go and ask my dad, “If you won a tablet, what color would you want it to be.” He said “blue” and that was that. Then I go and say good morning to my mom, so she says good morning to me. Then I play with my orange Nerf Gun. The sound it makes goes from smooth to a high pitch. But enough about me, this is about my home. I would not be able to do anything without it. If my house were a person, they would always be pale and would always wear a green hat that green would be pale and layered with black confetti. But it would be burnt from the fire. More on that now: a few people were building a couple of duplexes and they caught on fire I was flabbergasted but luckily it was winter, and the snow prevented the fire from spreading too much. My house would smell like my mom making daal curry, mainly Indian cooking. Although it smells like Indian cooking, it would taste like part chocolate cookie and the part vanilla. The chocolate would taste like burnt popcorn ever since the fire. Anyways a mint would be spread at the top with thin, dark, square shaped chocolate sprinkles. My house would not sound like much, but when my mom is making curry or daal it would sound like exhausts. My house would feel inviting, it shares as much love as possible if there is commotion everyone is involved so it ends quickly. No words can describe a home- a teepee, a shack, camper van, a house. All of these are humble homes that cannot be described. For a home is a home no matter the looks, smells, or anything. No home is a home without love, people or animals, anything to shelter, and somebody thankful that appreciates it. We should not take homes for granted as millions of people have nothing to call home. Whether it is burnt from a fire or not a home, it should not be taken for granted.