As I said (or wrote ) before, this story is meant for my English Class, but I actually like it, so I'll put it here. The bolded words are just the fancy words I had to use for the class. 

 If you have any critizing, please don't be afraid to tell me!

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Some people say life is good.

Some say it's a brutal world out there.

In my opinion.

It's a living nightmare.

And it's all because of our horrible aristocracy we have.

The wealthy believed that they were better than us and could boss us around like shepherds and sheeps.

Well, I'm sick of having poor living conditions and being mocked, just because of a status I was born into. I was almost thirteen years old when I was finally smart enough to realize.

I could change that.

The next morning

I woke up to the familiar sound of carts cluttering around and the smell of rock dust and smoke. You see, my family worked at the country's coal mine so we had to settle nearby.

And by nearby, I mean at their doorstep.

Since we didn't own any horses or really any animal that could be strong enough to transport us, this was the best option.

Knowing that there was no time to waste I hurriedly got out of my makeshift bed and walked out of the tent. Mom was cooking some, what I presumed was carrot and potato soup, again, since they were the only foods we could really grow. She was stirring a big cauldron and I could see some chopped up bits of carrots floating on the top.

"G'morning!" I said while walking towards her. I put on my worn out apron and began to help her.

"G'morning," she replied exhaustedly, not looking up at me. I told her not to work extra last night after she tucked me in, but I know she did. I knew the reason why though, it was my birthday in a couple of days and it was kind of a tradition to have a celebration when you turn a special age. Like becoming a teenager. When my older brother turned thirteen, he was whisked away to our country's army.

That was 5 years ago.

And I haven't seen him ever since. He received a small compensation from working, but he would always send it home and not keep it for himself. But a couple of months ago, they stopped coming.

We should have been grateful that he stopped, but every one reminded us that he was still alive. Now that they aren't here, we're starting to worry about him, but we can't just march into the military camp and demand to know where he is.

That's a death wish.

After helping myself to a hot bowl of carrots and potatoes, with a side of mushy carrots, I started my real work. Cleaning the rocks. Or to be more specific, dusting them, washing them, and shining them to perfection.

I picked up my bucket of supplies, a duster, a metal cutter and a rag.

While walking to my station while holding my bucket on my right hip, I saw some people gathering around a stage used when a bureaucrat or some important government official comes to give declarations.

Shoot.

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Word Count: 497