Three Year Old Angel

Three Year Old Angel

     I was three years old. It a clear, sunny, perfect day in Autumn. The faint shadows that were now dancing across the floor, enticed the details in the floorboards. The smell of leaves and grass surrounded me. I was still in pajamas that were designed to make me look like a cheetah, even though it was almost lunchtime. The thing that was on the front of my mind was my little sister. We had just found out that she is a girl. She was due any day now and I was excited.

     To begin with, it had all started when my older brother and sister had wanted all of us to do something together. My younger brother and I had just followed along. I had thought that it was a good idea at the time; I was wrong. Well, it started out by happily playing "duck, duck, goose." But very soon after a bubble of tension began to grow in the room when we disagreed on what to play next. When the bubble nearly filled the room, it popped. Now we were fighting instead. 

     Next, I thought about what was going on. It wasn't any arguing, it was intense physical fighting. I did not want to be a part of it. I wanted it to end. I tried to tell my siblings, but nay, they would not listen. I very soon understood that they were too furious to listen. So I gave up, I just walked out the door pausing in the threshold to look upon my siblings in sadness. Then, I just gathered some breath and left. 

     Then, I was back in the very wide, spacious hall. While we had been fighting and playing, the weather had turned sour. The wind let out it's rage upon the peach-colored house. The shadows in comparison from going from dancing a slow, graceful dance upon the floor to jumping furiously from place to place. They had been very weak, now, very bold. I saw things I didn't see before; like the boxes of books in the library because we were moving in just a few months. But to my relief, I soon was very close to the kitchen. 

     Finally, I was near enough to the kitchen to smell my mom's homemade bread that had just come out of the oven that my mom was using to make smooth peanut butter and strawberry jelly sandwiches. I saw my mother pausing once in a while to pat her swollen belly. Often times she would grimace in pain as the baby kicked her from inside of her stomach. At the time, I didn't realise how much pain she was in, but I still had wished to help her get rid of the pain. I walked into my mom's line of sight and then she greeted me with her smile that seemed to brighten the room. I smiled my toothy smile in return. I climbed up onto the stool to help her make the sandwiches. As I did, the noise of my siblings fight faded away as they sheepishly filed into the room at my mother's call of "lunch."  We were all now getting along. It was now perfect in my point of view.