Blueprint.
My house is what some would call nice, and middle class. Its white outside and trees give it the feeling of home. Having lived in the same place since I was four, I recall many memories. One that has stuck with me for a very long time, was one that involved my brother, Chris. We had a bench at our dining room table, and I often would finding myself sitting there, drawing, playing, etc. But one night, I learned that benches were evil. We were having a dinner with our neighbors, whose daughter I frequently played with. As the adults prepared dinner in the kitchen, we sat in the living room, playing with our dolls. Once the smell of food started filling the rooms, we decided to abandon our meaningless game of dolls, and investigate. Since the kitchen is visible from the dining room, we settled onto my bench and watched with watering mouths as the food was assembled. Soon, the adults began bringing the food in. I jumped with excitement. When I jumped, I didn’t land on the bench. I landed against the corner of the table, and busted my head open. My dad quickly cleaned the gash, and upon my order, took the evil bench outside. It’s back inside now, but I still refuse to take a seat upon it