Question

Im helping my sis write a story based on nf, so how is this (We chaqnged up the story a bit so her teacher does not notice)

Answer 1

My mind is like a home that I am trapped in. Rooms covered in sadness and fear. All of my feelings written all over the walls and floors like lyrics. I stare into this shattered mirror to see a light skinned boy with dark hair. Eyes so blue that you could drown in their sadness. 21 years of life trapped into a scared little body. My mother named me after my uncle that died the same way she did. Nathan died from his drug addiction. Anglia, my mother died from a drug addiction. I, Nathan Foyerstine, will die from god knows what, but it will not be from a drug addiction. I refuse to become the same feen my family was no matter how much pain I will endure from this filthy life.



Rising Action

My mind was and still is my home. One room holds the life I lived in my foster home. It was literal hell. I was alone, apart from my foster parents. I had nobody to talk to. They never cared; they were abusive. Sometimes I took it with a straight face. Other times, I could not bear it. I was stuck there for a long time, 3 years. I first got there when I was 15, and they were nice. That was only to make a first impression. It was probably me that, in those 3 years, were the problem. Or it was their alcoholic addiction that caused this gigantic cluster of pain and regret in this room I sleep in. Nobody knows yet. Not even myself. The only thing I do know is that those scars are still there from many years ago.

The next room down the hall was my mother´s death. She was a drug addict. The last few days of her life, I never even got to see her. She locked herself in her room, and the only reason she opened it was to grab her plate of food from my small arms. So, you ask, who took care of poor Nathan Foyerstine? The answer is myself. I cooked my own food. My father was never there for me. I never knew him. When she killed herself, I never felt more alone. I was sent to foster care at 14, a few days after she died.



Then there were regrets. This was the biggest room. The things I regret doing and not doing. I regret not telling people about my mom’s drugs. I regret not sticking up for myself against my abusers. I regret a lot of things, but my worst one was thinking life was easy. If anyone told you that life would be easy, I promise this, they are a liar. This is also filled with silly questions like; “What’s life” and “Why was I born” with many others. What even is reality with all these questions? All those regrets and questions are written on the walls like lyrics to a song. I still chase perfection with broken legs.

Answer 2

Pretty good so far! Can't wait to hear the finished product!

Answer 3

OMG I love this! You did an amazing job! I'm proud of you guys! Very well done can't wait to hear the finished project!

Answer 4

wow, Istg u both r amazing keep up the great work!

Answer 5

ty

Answer 6

Amazing!