Working with Beginnings - Draft One

Four in the morning. The streetlights flickered on and off. The clouds had already started breaking, rays of scarlet shining down on the dew covered grass. A breeze flew through the empty streets. I shivered, pulling the collar of my light blue jacket up to my frozen neck. I should’ve brought the winter coat, I thought bitterly, turning onto Avery Drive. The houses, different shades of blues, reds, and even a rainbow colored one (I don’t even want to know why), passed slowly in my walk to home. I maneuvered through the bright green grass, moving back and forth because of the breeze, and stepped up to porch. I put my ear against the brown hard wood door. Not a sound could be heard on the other side of the door. Excellent, I thought with a smirk as I searched for the keys in my pocket. Nothing but air. I grunted, pulling up the rug to get the secondary key. There was only pavement. My annoyance quickly turned into frenzied rage, cursing loudly (but not too loudly) at the house.
I took a deep breath, imagining a calm scene of a waterfall erupting over jagged rocks in some tropical forest far away from any civilization. The mist from the waterfall fell over my rage, allowing the cunning part of my conscious to create a new plan. The “idea bulb” went off, causing me to look at the vines hanging against the house’s wall, leading all the way up to my open bedroom window. My hand, albeit shaking, grabbed onto the vine. I pulled the other one up. My feet followed. I kept up this pattern, making sure to catch my breath before climbing again. My hand hit a smooth surface, my victory imminent. I dragged myself through the window, landing upon the warm blanket that lay atop my bed. I closed my eyes, celebrating my victory, until a bright light of sorts shocked me awake. It was there that I saw my mother, red-faced, with eyes screaming in fury. Apparently, even the best-laid plans go awry.