This was a short story essay project for school, I got a B on it. Tell me what you guys think
EDIT: Forget Attachment.
The grand fields of grass were cut every weekend, perfectly level, so the cattle that roamed there constantly had fresh grass to nibble on and therefore were rarely unhappy. The hills stretched out far, almost nonstop to the distant mountains, but one could see where it leveled out and became a bank for the river, a river that fed and nourished the flowers and plants lining it. There were some of the most colorful flowers there, in fact if they caught the eye of a passer-by he would have to stop and be drawn in by the color and the scent of nature and its beauty. Water lilies, Daffodils, and Orchids were the most prominent, and when the wind blew it drew the fragrance so far along the river that hummingbirds miles away would be able to detect that wonderful scent, and fly long and hard against the wind to get that delicious sugar water which tingled their nostrils. In the spring the water passed under the hot sun between two dead maple trees that could not shield the sunlight, and consequently, became warm for an instant, making the breadth succeeding the trees an ideal swimming spot for teeny-boppers.
There was an oak tree that was unlike any other living in this quiet little town, A tree that was so abnormally tall for a tree of it’s sort that one
had to climb it and set in it for a long while, gazing out for hours at nothing, and at the same time everything. The tree was on a hill that made it able to look out in any direction for miles, so there was always something to look at. This particular oak tree had everything a boy with no cares in the world could want; at the top the most comfortable limb known to man, almost uncanny in its way; a hole that stretched down deep about arms length which used to be home to many a critter, but now is instead the home of putting bottles of crème soda and liquor for the boy on the farm that climbed it daily. The boy had carved his name into the bark at the top, claiming the tree as his to anyone who intruded on it. The limbs at the top of the tree created a level surface that the boy had taken advantage of. A most difficult task, the boy brought up a husky piece of flat board and covered it with blankets to create a cozy and relaxing daytime luxury. The thick leaves protected it from downpour, but just in case the boy had a tarp within the hole of the tree. In the mornings before school the boy would leave his backpack at the bottom and climb it, for he could see the school bus miles away making stops and picking up kids, and would have about a good half-hours time to make his way back down to the bottom and board it. The sunlight would pass through the leaves making a strobe effect, and a contemporaneous certainty of warmth; warmth that made the boy happy and satisfied. A breeze would ruffle his hair and when he stepped on the bus in the early morning the girls would look at him with admiration and desire. Life was good.
It was the weekend. The boy was where he always was, in the strangely comfortable position in the oak tree. The boy could smell rain in the air, but it didn’t alarm or bother him, for he wasn’t alone and had an enormous friend to shield him from the precipitation. There was a breeze, but it was a special breeze, not cold but pleasing. Every time it blew it tossed the boys shaggy hair. The boy looked up from the book he was reading and gazed out for miles and miles, like he always did, looking at the things he was familiar with. Numerous red barns plastered the skyline and stood out wonderfully and vibrantly against the green forests and corn fields. Hot air balloons drifted carelessly and slowly, taking their time, surveying the houses as a guard does prisoners. The boy could just see Blue lake, where kids went on weekends to drink beer, smoke, and play loud music. It got its name from when the lake was viewed at night; the algae projected an eerie blue color in the moonlight. The boy would sit at night, watching the very distant figures dance and block his view of the fire that they made. Even with the endless things to look at, which he normally appealed to, he closed his eyes and happiness flooded over him, like it always did.
(No Title) Class Story (please critique)
