STORY OF MY LIFE

       It was like any October morning, chilly and lazy, full with chaos in the living room, kitchen full with food, and the bedroom lonely. My fatigued mother took care of annoying kids, yelling and running, while I accompanied my mother doing the laundry downstairs. The kids stayed with my father upstairs and he didn't mind because all the kids are scared of him, so they sat down on the untouched coach. My father had to go to work and dismissed us with a warm hug and kiss. 

"Stay here with the kids while I go put detergent on the clothes. I'll be back," said my mother as she grabbed the detergent bottle and left. 

I thought to myself, could i really take care of kids younger than me if i care barely take care of myself?

The kids all started running and yelling, again. I was getting bugged with them, so I left to the bedroom. I locked myself because I knew they were going after me. They started banging on the door loudly that I thought the door was going to fly off. I still didn't know how to do a lot of things that my average age would be able to do. 

One thing that I did know how to do very well was turn on the television. Although I could turn the television on, I didn't know how to turn the volume down. It was about that time of the year where only scary movies would show up on every channel.

Damn what luck i have, right? I was terrified of horror movies so my first instinct was to yell as loud as I can. The kids heard me and all ran to the door to see what was wrong. Ironically, they can't see through the door. They all went to call my mother, which she was talking with the chatty neighbor.

They tried to all explain, which they failed at, so they all end up pushing her towards the kitchen when she realizes that I'm screaming from the top of my lungs. 

"What's wrong?" She realizes the door is locked. By her knowledge, she knows I can't unlock the door. What a difficult task for a 4 year-old?!

"I can't open the door!" I started crying. My mother puts her ear on the door and hears screaming and asks, "who's with you? Who's yelling?"

The television was still on and I tried turning it off until I saw my worst nightmare, Chucky. I ran back to the door and started crying even more. "Chucky!"

My mother calls my father, knowing he was at work a few blocks away. He was excused and came to the house as fast as he could. 

"I could kick the door down!"

"Wait! She's right next the door crying!"

"Then what to we do now!"

"Call the firefighter and take her out from the window!"

"No! It can't be that difficult to do and besides... she's crying! Go for the screwdriver!"

My mother goes for the screwdriver and she's hears nothing but gasps of my crying and the noisy television. My father examines the doorknob and sees there's nails on the outer part of the door. He starts unscrewing the doorknob as my mother talks to me to calm me down. 

After 10 minutes of unscrewing the rusted nails, they slowing open the door just to see me laying on the brown, carpet floor. My mother turns off the television and holds me. She notices my red, puffy eyes.

"Gigi... Gigi..." No movement. 

"Gissel!" 

Little did they know I had fallen asleep from all that crying. I woke up in relieve to see my mother and father. Lesson learned: don't avoid little annoying kids and lock yourself in the room.