10 years later and nothing looks the same (hook)

with the orange and blue flames rising from the coal behind the glass, the house is quite and no ones home after last nights fight, its no surprise. this house wasn't ment to be a war zone. wasn't it built to be a home? all the anger, all the hate, its all in my blood; squeezing my eyes shut i force all my hate tainted blood to my hands and they pulsate with anger and i run to my room and slam the world shut behind me. digging throu the mass of broken objects iv recently throne at my wall my hands find a large sheet of clear plastic, i frantically cover my walls and drag out my paint box covered with years angry paint. in the darkness of my closet, safe from the world, i find my beautiful pure canvases and easel. my hands shake in anticipation as i quickly thro up my easel and softly place my canvases on its ledge, with a sigh of calmness at its sight i pick up my brush and close my eyes replaying the fight in my mind, the anger cascades back to my hands and i'm forsed to atack its white surface with all the colors on my palette. my heart pounds as the molded words scream in my ear, the blood rushing to my brain and bulging my eyes with salted tears and finaly my knees give out and i fall. on my floor i sit with my eyes shut and my ears left in peace. im scared that if i recognize my surroundings it will all return but i just sit, speechless, motionless, but my head throbs in pain. slowly i open my eyes and the sight of my arms is calming, the paint splashed up my arms and across my chest and legs, the colors makes me go into a trance and i rub my hands together to feel it squish between my fingers. my once pure canvases is now stained with beauty and anger. behind my door i can hear my mothers voice calling to me and everything starts to spin and i close my eyes but her voice gets louder and louder. the door swings open and so do my eyes. the once paint covered walls are now covered in a custard yellow floral print wallpaper and my belongings have vanished along with the paint that was resting on my arms. im back to my own realty, far from my past

10years later

every year had a new experiance, wher i live, what i am doing, who i see, the people i meet, the place i go, all different and all so intressting. when i was in high school my english teacher asked me where i saw my self in ten years and i have to say that i really didnt know what i would be doing with my life, actuly i didnt even know what i would be doing the next day let alone ten years later, but that was the day i really started to think about my futcher. so i went to college for art and became an art teacher and left the states and explored the world, when i got back to the states i went to cosmotolagy school and now word as a high school art teacher and im a make up artis for the decised at the local morgs at night.