This essay is an original work by me.
A heated Argument
Glasses, photo frames and vases crashing and shattering everywhere. Their voices are getting louder and louder. It was supposed to be a small talk, now it all turned out to be an argument. I wished that the world would just end. Sitting in front of the computer, I started ranting about my parents on Facebook. Every Sunday, I wished for it to be peaceful. There is only one reason to their argument, just one: money. They could not stop arguing. If I had a camcorder, I could record and make a series out of their arguments. Things have to come to an end. Arguing about money isn’t going to help my family move on and lead a blissful life. Why can’t my parents understand that?
Four mobile phones had been damaged due to their arguments. Our family is not rich and of all things, they have to throw the expensive items such as the phones. There was an occasion when they argued to the extent of fighting. My mother assaulted my father and he blocked her attack. Both of them ended up struggling. I was fourteen at that time. Seeing my parents fight like this was a disappointment. In my room, all I could hear was their voices and stuff clashing against the floor. Their argument was so loud that I could hear what they were arguing about clearly. I need to study. My exams are round the corner and with this situation that happens once in a week, I am bound to fail.
Enraged, I went out of my room and was stunned to see what was happening. My mother was holding her precious vase in her hand, pointing at the direction where my father was standing. Threatening my father, they did not realise that I was there watching. Violence is not a solution to arguments. My father always reminded me about that. Just when I was about to yell at them, my mother threw the vase at my father. Not wanting my father to get hurt, I quickly stood in front of him and took the hit. The next moment, I felt numbness on the left side of my forehead. There was a minute of silence.
My parents stood rooted to their places, eyes on me. I put my hand on my forehead and felt something wet. Red fluid stream down to my left eye and my palm was red. My shirt was covered with blood that came from my wound. My vision started to blur and the last thing I felt was a knock on my shoulders. My world became dark ever since the heated argument my parents had. From that day onwards, I felt peaceful.
A heated Argument
Glasses, photo frames and vases crashing and shattering everywhere. Their voices are getting louder and louder. It was supposed to be a small talk, now it all turned out to be an argument. I wished that the world would just end. Sitting in front of the computer, I started ranting about my parents on Facebook. Every Sunday, I wished for it to be peaceful. There is only one reason to their argument, just one: money. They could not stop arguing. If I had a camcorder, I could record and make a series out of their arguments. Things have to come to an end. Arguing about money isn’t going to help my family move on and lead a blissful life. Why can’t my parents understand that?
Four mobile phones had been damaged due to their arguments. Our family is not rich and of all things, they have to throw the expensive items such as the phones. There was an occasion when they argued to the extent of fighting. My mother assaulted my father and he blocked her attack. Both of them ended up struggling. I was fourteen at that time. Seeing my parents fight like this was a disappointment. In my room, all I could hear was their voices and stuff clashing against the floor. Their argument was so loud that I could hear what they were arguing about clearly. I need to study. My exams are round the corner and with this situation that happens once in a week, I am bound to fail.
Enraged, I went out of my room and was stunned to see what was happening. My mother was holding her precious vase in her hand, pointing at the direction where my father was standing. Threatening my father, they did not realise that I was there watching. Violence is not a solution to arguments. My father always reminded me about that. Just when I was about to yell at them, my mother threw the vase at my father. Not wanting my father to get hurt, I quickly stood in front of him and took the hit. The next moment, I felt numbness on the left side of my forehead. There was a minute of silence.
My parents stood rooted to their places, eyes on me. I put my hand on my forehead and felt something wet. Red fluid stream down to my left eye and my palm was red. My shirt was covered with blood that came from my wound. My vision started to blur and the last thing I felt was a knock on my shoulders. My world became dark ever since the heated argument my parents had. From that day onwards, I felt peaceful.
