A little girl named Hope

By Shayan Rezaianzadeh. Shayan, 16, is from Shiraz, Iran. Please read his story and leave your comments and thoughts below.

Little Hope woke up from sleep. She stayed in her bed for a couple of minutes. Her bed was so warm and cozy that she could spend the whole day lying there but unfortunately, she had to get ready for school. The view she had in front of her was dazzling. A window covered almost the entire wall. A window that was more like a painting than a colorless slab of glass. What Hope was seeing on the other side of the window was the painting of a painter that you could believe in just with this one work of art. The tree branches dancing for the wind. A wind cold enough to send a shiver through the body of the pool that was flattened on the all-green grass garden. Flowers which seemed to have gathered all the color there was in the universe were surrounding the pool and the trees. And the wind would make each soul of the garden dance in a different way.

Hope got up and took one last glance at the window, memorizing every little detail that she could. She then walked to her bedroom’s door, and left the room. The house she lived in was not any less beautiful than the garden that was surrounding it. Hope’s bedroom was on the first floor. The house had three floors and on the ground floor, you could find the living room and the kitchen. The bedrooms were on the first floor and finally, the second floor held the library and the games room (which was specially made for Hope!). The middle of the semicircular house was empty and the flat side was all glass, showing much of the colorful garden. With a quick glance at the house, the colors mostly seen were dark brown and white. Although, after exiting each room, what would really attract your attention was the gigantic wooden chandelier going down the middle of the house.

“Well enough staring at the house!”, little Hope said to herself as she took the stairs to the ground floor. She entered the kitchen where she saw her always smiling mother and her father already seated at the table. Her mother stood up and hugged her. Then she greeted her father with a strong but warm “good morning”. The atmosphere was friendly. The power and attraction of the father could be felt when he was around his family. He was a unique man. He was a supporter. He was the hero of all the stories in Hope’s mind, and her mother was the angel.

Breakfast finished and Hope grabbed her backpack and left for the door. Once again, she looked back at all there was in the house; she could not find a single flaw. She was ready for school and she knew her goal. She was going to become a famous writer and finish all her stories just like the beginning of her own life, with happiness, laughter and warmth…

The two bakers in front of Hope’s house were watching her as she closed the door behind herself and left for school. Just like every day, they were surprised. They were right though, it really was surprising!

The first baker said: Every single day, this girl comes out of that wreckage with a more stupid face.

Well to be honest, in the scene of that black and white house and colorless neighborhood, Hope’s brightly shining face was stupid!

The second baker said: “You know, from a father that can’t even speak with all those drugs inside him and a mother whose screams fill the neighborhood every day, you wouldn’t expect a sane child would you?”

And then finally the first baker replied: “you’re right. It’s their child after all. And also, she’s just a kid. Her mind’s too small. She can’t see the world correctly! I guess she’s just insane…”

But Hope was smiling as she walked enthusiastically to her school. She knew that none of these dark realities surrounding her could make her stop working for the beautiful future she kept safely in her mind.

8 comments on “A little girl named Hope

  1. Mahshid on

    Dear Shayan,
    you can’t imagine how speechless I am right now after reading such a wise story from a 16 year old teenager. I’m just so proud, I’ve read many books so far I’ve been teaching English for years.. couldn’t find a single problem.. good job kid..

    Reply
  2. Özil on

    As welcome as a rain storm in hell
    As welcome as dew on parched flowers
    As welcome as the flowers in May
    & as light as air!
    The further I read, the warmer it shone…
    Lovely & gorgeous :))))

    Reply
  3. Maria on

    Fantastic and detailed description has made a realistic piece of art that helps the readers enjoy every single moment that spend for reading this beautiful short story.

    Reply

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